


Caught Up in You

by spectaculacularsammy



Series: Not Unless Sam Says [15]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (I can't believe I just used a tag with Gwen Steffani in a SPN fic), (those are horrible tags - I don't know wth to call it), Angst, Developing Relationship, Dom Sam Winchester, Dom/sub, Dom/sub negotiations, F/M, Hair Pulling, More angst, Nipple Clamps, Nipple Licking, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Denial, Porn With Plot, Prequel to Not Unless Sam Says, Protective-of-his-brother Dean Winchester, Reader Masturbates, References to Led Zeppelin|Sword of Truth|Star Wars|Neil Young|Gwen Steffani, Sam Masturbates, Sam tells you all about his life, Smut, Spanking, Texting, Tickling, Vaginal Fingering, You tell Sam all about your life, plot devloping, relationship cuteness, sub Reader
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-08-22
Updated: 2017-08-03
Packaged: 2018-08-10 07:57:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 75,266
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7836571
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spectaculacularsammy/pseuds/spectaculacularsammy
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>(The prequel to the <i>Not Unless Sam Says</i> series)</p><p>How it all started.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Genesis

**Author's Note:**

> Honestly, I've been dabbling with this for about a year. All of you (along the fabulously fabulous, ladyataralasse, who beta'd this for me - praise her skills!) were on board, so here it is. 
> 
> With my previous multi-chaptered fics, I always hoped to update once a week. However, recently, things have changed in my life (good changes) so I can't promise the same sort of schedule. Please, bear with me, and I swear that I'll update as often and as quickly as I can. :)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Wednesdays were Sam’s day to get out of the bunker. A dusty little used-bookstore-slash-café on the corner of Nothing and Nowhere was Sam’s favorite place to go, and he loved it.

With his usual drink – a café Americano with an extra shot and a hint of nutmeg – he sat at his usual table with his back to the wall, so that he could see the entire coffee shop, but he never really looked. Sam buried his nose in his book and never paid more attention to his surroundings than he had to.

But one day, that changed.

All morning, you sat behind your book, sipping your coffee, and it was your obliviousness to your surroundings that caught Sam’s attention.

A waitress tripped on a patron’s shoe, and three mugs of coffee flew across the tiled floor, shattering into dozens of pieces. Everyone in the entire café looked at the scene, except for you. You didn’t flinch, didn’t bat an eyelash; you simply turned a page in your book.

Sam didn’t know why, but he was fascinated. When waitresses scrambled past you to clean up the river of spilled coffee, you just kept your eyes on your book, but Sam kept his eyes on you.

You were folded up in a huge leather chair, with your feet under you, practically kneeling, and it was almost like Sam could see what you were reading on your face. Sometimes your eyes would widen, or your pupils would expand, but Sam sat patiently and waited for his favorite expression. Every once in a while, the corners of your mouth would turn up into a tiny smile, and each time, Sam found himself doing the same thing.

As he waited for those tiny smiles, he watched you pick at your apple cinnamon scone and wipe your fingers on a napkin. He watched you stretch your back and turn your head from side to side to loosen out the kinks, but just before your eyes went back down to your book, they caught Sam’s. It only lasted a second. He saw you blink. You gave him a little smile, which he returned, and then you went back to your book.

Sam’s not a creeper. He doesn’t stare at girls, certainly doesn’t _watch_ them, but he watched you. Of course, he did it covertly and made sure to look back down at his book and turn a page every now and again.

As unlike himself as it was, Sam couldn’t stop looking at you.

When his phone vibrated in his jacket pocket, he jumped just a little bit before digging it out. It was a text from Dean, asking him when he’d be back. Sam took a drink of his Americano and sent his reply, but when he looked up, your chair was empty.

His eyes carefully scanned the parking lot, but you were gone.

-

Later that week, while reading about a possible case a couple of states over, Sam’s mind wandered. The image of you kneeling in the leather chair at the café was an image that he caught himself thinking about more often than not, but _somehow_ , it got twisted into you kneeling on the floor in front of him.

In reality, he may have been holding his tablet in his hands, but in his head, Sam was holding your jaw and the back of your head with his fingers wound through your hair. He watched your spit-shiny lips slowly slide up and down his length, making him gasp out praises when you kept the perfect amount of suction and tongue.

Feeling your eager moans through every inch of his cock, Sam watched you for as long as he could, but when the back of your throat clenched around him just perfectly, he pulled your mouth up off him.

It wasn’t very often that Sam found himself with a girl, and it was even less often that he found one whose primary goal wasn’t to suck his orgasm out through his dick. Not that having that happen was necessarily a bad thing, it’s just that Sam liked that wait, that anticipation, that build-up. Not every girl in Sam’s past had understood his preference, but in his dirty daydream, you did.

With his cock twitching and throbbing between his middle and your face, Sam watched you lick your spit and his pre-come from your lips. Your eyes stayed on his cock, eagerly watching the shiny trail leak from the slit and travel down his shaft. When another trail began the same path as the former, you leaned forward to lick it away, but Sam caught your chin just in time.

With a little pout, you sat back on your heels. Sam kept his eyes on you, and in his head, he counted a minute’s worth of seconds, then eased your mouth back on him. He could feel your tongue flick and flutter in all the right places, and when he finally let himself come in his dirty daydream, you obediently knelt on the floor with his come puddled on your tongue until he gave you permission to swallow.

In the shower, Sam found himself imagining how your skin would feel in his hands if he fucked you up against the cool, tiled wall. Stroking his cock with a tight fist, he thought about how the hot water would bead up on your chest and how it would drip off your pointed nipples as he thrust into you under the spray.

As his own moans echoed off the shower walls, Sam wondered what you would sound like. Would you scream out his name? Would you moan out all the filthy things the he hoped you would? Would you beg for more, harder, faster?

Sam imagined that you did all of the above, and as he came all over his hand, he wondered how hot and slick you would feel when he was inside of you.

At night, when Sam was in his bed, he thought about how you’d taste on his tongue. He loved to take his time when he got the chance to go down on a girl and loved to find all the spots that made their toes curl, made their body rise up off the bed, and made them gush all over his chin.

In Sam’s thoughts, he found every single one of those places on your body and perfected his technique in accordance to how your body responded to his licks and sucks. You trembled in his hands, rocked your hips against his face, and sobbed and pleaded for him to make you come.

After a little while, he finally did.

You were sweet and slick on his tongue, and Sam imagined that once he licked you clean, he kissed his way up your quivering body until he found your panting mouth. You begged against his lips and pleaded for him to put his cock in you.

All through his bedtime fantasy, Sam didn’t let himself touch his cock. It leaked and throbbed against his stomach, but when you begged him in his mind, he gave you exactly what you wanted.

Stroking himself and imagining that his hand was your tight and perfect pussy, Sam writhed on his bed, arched his back, and bit his bottom lip until it nearly bled, but he didn’t let himself come.

While he gritted out muted curses aloud, in his head, he shushed your whimpers and promised that he’d let you come. While Sam’s brain version of you tried to catch your breath, he did too, then brought his hand back to this cock.

It took just a few seconds for him to make himself come, and he imagined that it was your slick pussy wrapped around his cock and not his tight and come-covered fist.

After Sam caught his breath, cleaned himself up, and situated himself in bed, he almost immediately fell asleep, dreaming about all the things that he’d fantasized – and then some.

-

With all of his dirty daydreams running through his mind, on that second Wednesday, Sam couldn’t concentrate on his book. Sure, it was crowded and noisy in the café, but that wasn’t why he wasn’t able to concentrate. For a little while, he sipped his coffee, but since you weren’t there, he vowed not to think about you.

When that didn’t work, Sam tried to only wonder what book you were reading that week or what your name was. It worked for a little while. Then, Sam’s mind wandered back to what he _really_ wanted to know about you, and he wondered what your voice sounded like when you begged him to let you come.

Out of nowhere, a woman asked him, “Seems like they’ll just let anybody in here, doesn’t it?”

Sam startled a little bit in his chair at the voice, and he looked up. It was you. “Yeah.” He laughed just a little and quickly looked around the crowded café. The only open chair was the one at his table. “It seems that way.”

“Do you mind?” You motioned to the chair across from him.

“Please,” he insisted. “Sit down. My coffee’s gone, and I’ll be going in just a sec. You can have the table.” He shoved his book into his leather bag and stood up from his chair.

“You’re going?”

Sam noticed the way you looked up at him with wide eyes, and he heard Dean’s voice in his head, _Talk to her, Sammy. If you want to know her, make conversation, find out her story; just make sure she’s not a damn monster, and don’t forget her phone number._ “I suppose I can stay for a while longer. I’m going to grab another coffee.” When he reached for his empty coffee cup, his elbow just barely touched your shoulder.

Your answer was just a friendly smile, and Sam made his way to the counter. Once he had his coffee, on a whim, he ordered two apple cinnamon scones, and started back toward the table.

“So,” you started after Sam sat down at the table and handed you one of the scones. “Wednesday is your day, too?”

Your voice was exactly what Sam had imagined. He almost groaned at the table, but instead asked, “ _My day_?”

“This is the sixth Wednesday I’ve seen you in here. You rotate between paperback Authurian and Science Fiction. You always get an Americano with and extra shot and nutmeg, but never anything to eat.”

“My sixth Wednesday, huh?” Sam was impressed because the Wednesday before was the first time that he noticed you.

“Don’t get _too_ excited.” You smirked. “That guy over there.” You nodded your head toward a man reading a magazine in a chair. “This is his fourth Wednesday, and that lady…her second.”

“So, you like to people watch?” Sam leaned forward in his chair and rested his arms on the table, pleasantly surprised when you did too.

“Nope, just observant. I notice patterns. It’s kind of my thing.”

“So, what are you doing here in Lebanon?”

Sam noticed you hesitated for just a fraction of a second, but you recovered almost flawlessly. “Just here for work. Have been for a few weeks now.”

Curious, he asked, “Work? What do you do?”

After shoving your hand in your pocket, you pulled out a press pass, and slid it across the table to him. “ _Chicago Sun Times_. Was here to do a local piece, but it didn’t pan out. I’m waiting on a contact to get back to me.”

Sam looked at your press pass. “Kahlan Amnell? Nice to meet you, Kahlan.” He held out his hand. “Jim Page.” As soon as he said his “name,” he watched your whole body language change. He knew that you knew he was lying. Of course, Sam knew right away that your press pass was fake, but he appreciated the name you chose.

The conversation that the two of you continued to have was like playing a game. You both knew that the other was lying, but you both played into it.

Sam tried to read between the lines and pick up on your facial expressions. He also tried _not to_ stare at your mouth, or your hands, or notice how your shirt dipped down just a little bit in the front – he didn’t have very much luck with _any_ of the above.

Right off the bat, he didn’t think you were a hunter: you weren’t dressed for it, and he didn’t notice any tattoos or mannerisms that screamed, ‘hunter.’ Other than a chunky, wooden bracelet wrapped around your left wrist, Sam thought you looked like a ‘normal’ girl. However, with all your ‘normal,’ what he didn’t understand was why you were lying about who you were. Sure, you could have been a reporter, undercover for some big story, but that didn’t seem right. None of the possible scenarios that he ran thought his head seemed to make sense, but Sam kept up with the game. So did you.

Twenty-five minutes into the game, a man behind you abruptly stood up from his chair. It slammed into the back of your chair, and caused your coffee to spill down the front of your shirt.

Being a gentleman, Sam gave you all of his paper napkins. However, he was still a man and noticed how your wet shirt clung to your curves, but quickly went up to the café counter to get some towels. When he came back, your bag was packed and slung over your shoulder.

“Are you leaving?” Sam asked, then internally did a face-palm. _Duh. Her bag is packed and over her shoulder._ He knew nothing about you, except for your fake name and possible fake occupation, but he didn’t want you to go.

“I’m a mess.” You gestured to your coffee-soaked shirt, but asked with a hopeful smile, “See you next Wednesday?”

“Definitely,” tumbled out of Sam’s lips before he could even think. “I’ll be here.”

When you smiled up at Sam, he couldn’t help but smile back, but then he couldn’t help _something else_ from happening when you stepped up on your tip toes and whispered in his ear, “Try cinnamon instead of nutmeg next time; _spice it up_ _a little_.”

Sam could feel your warm breath on his skin, and he could smell faint traces of cinnamon. When your lips just barely touched his ear, his grin grew wider, and his jeans grew a little snugger. “I will.”

He watched you go out the café’s doors and out onto the side walk. You turned around once and laughed when Sam was still watching you, and then jogged down the street until you were out of his sight.

Walking back to his table to grab his bag, Sam realized that he talked to you for almost an hour, but he still had no idea who you were.

Suddenly, he couldn’t wait until the next Wednesday.

-

That night, when Sam climbed into his bed, he dreamed that he kissed you.

You were across the table from him at the café, and he leaned forward at the same second that you did. His lips met yours, and the kiss was soft and sweet and slow, and Sam felt you smile against his mouth.

Your kisses tasted like cinnamon.

*//*

About two months prior to meeting ‘Jim Page,’ you ended up in the tiny town of Lebanon, Kansas with fifty dollars to your name. Thankfully, your mentor, Irv, taught you how to hustle darts and pool.

That fifty dollars more than tripled, and you got yourself a room at a motel on the edge of town and a job there pushing a housekeeping cart and folding linens. The place was pretty gross, but the pay was fairly decent and kept you fed.

Hustling darts and pool hadn’t been the only thing that Irv had taught you. About four years before, a demon busted into your parents’ house. Just after it decided that your parents’ insides would be better on the outside, Irv kicked in the door, exorcized the demon and saved both your life and your sister’s.

Long story short, he taught you the art of hustling, but also about everything that went bump in the night and how to kill it.

One day, a few years later, Irv got a call from an old hunting buddy and was told that a bunch of angels fell from Heaven. He made a couple faces, said ‘criminy’ a half dozen times, and had a hushed conversation that you couldn’t hear. After Irv put his phone away, he scribbled down a number, an address, a list, then gave to you.

You looked at it, then back up at Irv. “You’re sending me to Jerusalem? As in Israel?”

You still remember the sound of his little chuckle. “Yup. Need you to get me a specialty item.” He handed you a fake passport with matching identification and gave you a hug. “Be safe, ______.”

With just enough time to give your sister a hug, you were whisked away to the nearest airport and on the next flight to Jerusalem, in search of holy oil.

It took you a little less than a week to find what you were looking for. After your plane landed, you made your way back to your motel room, to find your sister sitting in the middle of one of the beds. She gave you one look, and you knew exactly what had happened while you were away: even with all the knowledge and wisdom that Irv had, it had been a job in Eugene, Oregon where he found his end.

For a little while, you hunted alongside your sister, but the idea that Irv – your protector, your mentor, your teacher, your Qui-Gon Jinn – was gone made you feel like no matter what you did, who you saved, or how many demons you killed, it would never be enough. Losing him was exactly that: the loss of yet _another_ person in your life, but for your sister, it made her want to hunt even more.

Even though Irv’s death seemed to only add fuel to her hunter’s fire, she could still see what you were going through. She was the one who encouraged you to do what you needed to do and take a break. She stayed out west, while you travelled east, landing yourself in Lebanon, Kansas, staying put, and laying low while trying to get your head on straight.

For a few weeks, you kept to yourself, did your hospital corners, only went out to get food from the Gas-n-Sip across the alley, and took your sister’s calls, playing FBI or CDC when she needed you to.

After those first few weeks, you got lonely and ventured out of your motel room to explore what the sleepy town of Lebanon offered.

Quickly, a local used-book-store-slash-café became your favorite place to go, but because your funds were limited – part-time and minimum wage work didn’t go far after food and room rates – you saved coffee and apple cinnamon scones for your mid-week treat.

Week after week, you sat curled up in your favorite leather chair, turning pages in the coverless books that you bought from the used book section. There were a handful of people that you noticed were also in the café on Wednesdays, but being a stranger in the small town, you didn’t want to make yourself noticed and kept to yourself.

Then, on one Wednesday, you felt someone watching you. Hunter instincts kicked in, and you quickly figured out that it was the guy in the corner of the café, who was also turning pages in his own book.

Throughout your many weeks of watching the locals and the ones that were regulars on your usual Wednesdays at the café, you noticed the guy, what he looked like, how he always wore plaid, and his taste in books. Once, when you felt him watching you, you looked up and his eyes met yours. You politely smiled, looked away after he returned it, and then when he took a call, you quickly left the café.

On your walk home, you tried to recall the details that you noticed about him: tall, attractive, and always polite when he ordered his Americano with an extra shot and nutmeg. That was something you noticed right away, because more than once you had to take a job at a greasy-spoon diner to pay for a room and food between hunts. Very quickly and from personal experience, you learned that if a guy was a dick to the diner staff, he was a dick in real life.

Even still, you were trying to lay low and unwanted attention was exactly that: unwanted.

However, as the week went on, you told yourself that not even, Larry, the man who owned the motel, or Marissa, the girl who worked at the front desk, knew your real name, and that you were just being paranoid. The guy in the corner of the café was just a guy who, like you, enjoyed his Wednesday ritual of good coffee and an equally good book.

The next Wednesday, you went back to the café, but before you went inside, you stole a peek through the big, glass window in the front of the building to see if tall-attractive-polite-Americano guy was in his usual corner.

He was.

Shifting in his chair, he read the same page over and over again like he couldn’t focus. He sipped his coffee, ran his hand though his brown hair, and occasionally checked his phone, smiling kindly when the familiar Wednesday barista brought him a second cup of coffee.

After a few minutes of watching, you rolled your eyes at yourself and just went inside the café. When you found that it was more crowded than usual and that the only chair open in the entire place was at _his_ table, you almost left, but then you reminded yourself that, once upon a time, you could do this.

When things were normal – and you didn’t know about all the monsters in the world – you could go up to a person and have a normal conversation. It had been almost two months since you’d talked to someone other than Larry or Marissa from the motel or the guy working the counter at the Gas-n-Sip. You were lonely, and you took a shot. You walked up to his table and said ‘hi’.

When he looked up at you, you thought he looked a little startled, even surprised that someone was talking to him, but he was still polite as you had observed in the weeks before and offered you the chair.

Once he said that he was getting ready to go, another pang of loneliness stabbed at you, and you were happy that he decided to stay. He excused himself to get a refill on his coffee and when he came back, he had a plate with two apple cinnamon scones, which were your favorite. You were right, he _had been_ watching you, but oddly enough, the confirmation didn’t make you want to leave.

As the two of you started to talk, you noticed the way that he held himself. He leaned forward on the table when you spoke, but his body language still screamed that he was guarded.

He spoke without really saying anything about himself, yet asked you questions without seeming like he was – both signs you learned to recognize over the years, tell-tale signs of a hunter trying to get information.

When he asked why you were in Lebanon, you were almost positive that you were right about him. He didn’t ask if you _lived_ in town, or close by, he asked _why you were there_. However, when you saw something that looked kind of like a busted-up Walkman but kind of like an EMF too, you were about ninety-five percent sure that he was a hunter.

As soon as you told him that you were in Lebanon for work, you mentally cursed yourself. You knew he was going to ask what you did for work, and, of course, he did. Thankfully, you still carried around one of your old, fake _Chicago Sun Times_ press passes, and slid it across the table for him to see.

After he looked at it, he held out his hand and introduced himself: Jim Page. You almost rolled your eyes, because really? _Jim Page_? Either his parents were high, listening to Zeppelin through the entirety of the seventies, or his name was just as fake as your press pass.

To your surprise, Jim passed laminated card back to you. Either he wasn’t a _Sword of Truth_ fan and didn’t recognize the borrowed Mother Confessor alias, or he did, but let it go. Whichever it was, he didn’t say a word about it.

For the next little while, the two of you made small talk, and for the first time in a very long time, you found yourself smiling – and meaning it. Even if the conversation was more fake than some Hollywood star’s boob job, Jim was still seemed sincere. He didn’t act like he had some place better to be and didn’t stare at the group of twenty-something girls baring just about everything that God gave them when they walked in; he listened and looked at you when you spoke.

A couple of times, you noticed his eyes wandering a little on your body, but he wasn’t obvious about it. You even saw his cheeks just barely pink when he caught himself, and when the guy at the table behind you knocked the back of his chair into yours and spilled your coffee down the front of your shirt, you could tell that Jim didn’t mean to look at your wet clothing. In fact, you could almost see when he mentally chastised himself for looking.

When he stood up from the table, you looked up at him, and it was the first time you realized he was as tall as he was. Sure, you noticed that he towered over the other customers in the coffee shop, but that was the first time that he towered over you.

Both your heartbeat and your breathing quickened. His hands looked absolutely _huge_ as they handed you napkins to mop up the coffee dripping off of your shirt, and for a second, you thought he was going to dap away the caffeinated drips himself. He didn’t, but you were surprised when a part of you wanted him too.

Then, you did something that even you couldn’t believe you did. You stepped up on your tiptoes, and when you smelled the faint trace of nutmeg that you knew he had the barista add to his Americano, you whispered in his ear, “Try cinnamon instead of nutmeg next time; _spice it up_ _a little_.”

You felt yourself blush when your lips inadvertently touched his ear, your breasts just barely pressing into his firm chest, but to your shock, he smiled and answered, “I will.”

After Jim agreed to meet you at the café the following Wednesday, you practically skipped out of the café and onto the sidewalk, feeling lighter than you had in weeks, probably months. You told yourself not to turn around, but unable to help yourself, you did. Jim was watching you jog away with a pleasantly-shocked smile on his face, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

Once you got back to your motel room, you locked the door behind yourself, still with that grin on your face. You returned a missed call from your sister, ordered yourself some dinner, and watched TV until a constant loop of infomercials played.

That night, you couldn’t help yourself as you laid in bed, picturing Jim’s huge frame and hands, his soft brown hair, and how firm his chest was against yours. You imagined that he showed up at your motel room, and when you opened the door for him, he wrapped those huge hands around your hips, lifted you up, and carried you to bed.

Jim pulled you clothes away from your body before he laid you down, then pulled off his own. One of your hands used one of your vibrators as a Jim-substitute, the other tugged on your nipples, while you pretended that it was Jim’s teeth or his fingers twisting them and not you.

You pictured Jim using one of his huge hands to hold your wrists above your head as he fucked you hard on the bed, and when you made yourself come with a muffled groan, you did it all over again, fantasizing that Jim flipped you over and took you from behind.

The next morning, you used your vibrator on the lowest setting, picturing that Jim was licking your clit softly with his tongue, asking you over and over again if you wanted to come, but never letting you quite get there.

Only teasing yourself with the very tip of your vibrator, in your head, you begged Jim to let you come, and with his mouth buried in your pussy, he said that he’d only let you come if you addressed him properly. You mentally begged, ‘Please, Sir,’ and then you let yourself come, biting your lip, so that the people in the next motel room wouldn’t hear.

Your nighttime – sometimes morning time, sometimes afternoon time, sometimes all of the above – fantasies played out with random scenarios. Some were more intense than others, but by the next Wednesday when you were supposed to meet Jim again, you were starving for actual human touch, but had – for the most part – satisfied yourself enough so that you wouldn’t lunge at him the minute you walked into the café.

However, when you got there, Jim wasn’t. After you realized that you were fifteen minutes early, you gave him a break, bought yourself a cup of cinnamon-laced coffee and two scones, and sat at Jim’s usual table.

After an hour and a half passed, you’d finished both scones, four cups of coffee, and he still hadn’t showed up. When the two-hour mark hit, you felt like an idiot and got up to leave, but at the last second, walked up back to the counter, flagged down a barista, and asked, “Could I have one of those coffee sleeves, please?”

“Sure,” she answered, pushing her thick, chunky, black flamed-glasses up her nose. She turned around, grabbed one for you, and slid it across the counter.

Quickly, you scrawled a short note, grabbed your emergency twenty dollar bill out of your purse, but before you slid it back to the barista, you asked, “You work every Wednesday, right?”

“Yup. I’ve got late classes at the community college, so I’m here every Wednesday morning.”

“Great.” You smiled at her. “The twenty is for you if you give this to another person who is here almost every Wednesday too. Big guy. Brown hair.” You stretched your hand above your head. “Tall. Orders nutmeg in his coffee.”

“Oh!” the barista said, nodding her head and blushing a little bit. “Yup. Wednesday-nutmeg-Americano guy.”

“That’s him. His name’s Jim Page, and if he does show, give this to him, and I’ll give you a good tip for the next month of Wednesdays. Deal?”

Understanding, the barista tucked the coffee sleeve into an envelope and sealed it. “Deal.”

“He’ll probably ask for nutmeg in is coffee, but ask him if he wants cinnamon, instead.” The barista looked at you, confused. You didn’t explain, just smirked proudly at yourself, and left.

On you walk back to the motel room, you told yourself that you’d give Jim until the next Wednesday. If he didn’t show, you’d change your weekly coffee day to Thursdays.

No big deal. You’d probably be moving on soon, anyway.

*//*

Sam wasn’t able to make it that Wednesday.

He and Dean got stuck a couple states over working on a case with a vengeful spirit that didn’t go as smoothly as they planned.

Halfway through the drive back to the bunker, Sam realized why he didn’t form attachments anymore. He didn’t even know you, didn’t know your real name or anything about you, but he let you think that he was just an average guy who thought you were interesting, and he let you down. Sam had never been an average guy – even when he tried to be. He couldn’t plan even week in advance.

-

The next Wednesday Sam got up early, went for his run, showered, and dressed to go to the café, but when he pulled on his boots, he changed his mind. What could he offer you? He couldn’t even be held to his word for a morning of coffee.

That Wednesday morning, Sam made himself a pot of coffee and sat down at the table in the bunker, but he couldn’t concentrate. He stared at the same page and the same paragraph for an hour when Dean groggily sat down at the table and stole his coffee.

“What the hell are you doin’ here?” Dean asked after finishing Sam’s cup of coffee and pouring himself some more.

“What’s it look like I’m doing?”

“Why the change? Don’t you usually go to your hipster hide-a-way on Wednesday mornings?”

“Not always.”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “What’s her name?”

“What? _Nothing_ ,” Sam squeaked, then cleared his throat. “Nobody.”

“Suuuure. So, who is this café cutie?” Dean took another sip of coffee, made a face, and looked at the cup. “What the hell did you put in this coffee? It tastes… _weird_.”

“Cinnamon.”

“Why?”

Sam closed his book and slid it away from himself, but didn’t answer. _I’m spicing things up._

Of course, Dean could read Sam better than any book. “ _She_ drinks _her_ coffee with cinnamon. So, your Café Carlota likes it _spicy_ , does she?”

Sam rolled his eyes. “Dean….”

“Let me see if I got this straight: you were supposed to meet her last week. You’ve probably been watching her --” Dean stopped when Sam threw him a hard bitch face. “All right, all right.” Dean held up his hands and made sarcastic air quotes. “ _Observing_. You’ve probably been _observing_ for weeks, like a fourteen year-old boy, and you finally talked to her. You two made plans to meet up last Wednesday, but since friggin’ Casper went all _vengeful_ , you had to blow her off.”

Sam sighed. “Something like that.”

Dean stood up from the table. “All right, fine. If you’re gonna to let a perfectly good Hump Day Hottie go to waste, I’ll just go meet up with her.”

“No,” Sam all but growled and quickly stood up from the table.

Even though he had no idea who you really were or what your real name was, he was suddenly very protective of you. Grabbing his leather laptop bag off the back of his chair, he shoved his book inside, and practically ran out of the bunker.

Twenty minutes later, he parked the Impala on the corner of Nothing and Nowhere, and there were exactly three people in the used-bookstore-slash-café. None of them were you. Solemnly and without looking at the barista, he ordered his café Americano – with the extra shot and nutmeg.

“Do you mean cinnamon?”

Sam looked up to see a tiny girl with chunky, black-rimmed glasses and a lip piercing staring up at him from behind the counter. Confused, he said, “ _No_ ; I meant nutmeg.”

“Ummm…is your name Jim Page?”

Something flipped over in Sam’s stomach. “Yeah. Why?”

The lip-pierced barista dug in a wicker basket on the counter top and pulled out an envelope. “I was told to give this to the….” She rolled her eyes up into her head like she was trying to remember words from a script. “‘The big-guy-who-comes-in-on-Wednesdays-and-orders-the-Americano-with-nutmeg-and-an-extra-shot.’ That you?” Sam nodded his head dumbly, and she handed him the envelope. “So, nutmeg?”

Sam grinned and opened the envelope. “Cinnamon, please.”

Inside, was a folded up cardboard coffee cup sleeve with a note written on it:

 _Jim,_  
I’d love to hear your reason for not showing up today. It’s probably something SUPER important like a night flight, or you were trampled underfoot, or you were over the hills and far away, but I think you owe me a scone. I’m at 34 Circle Square #9, and I’ve got coffee.  
            -Kahlan

Your note didn’t make any sense to Sam, but he paid for his coffee and sat down at his usual table. After he read your note for the sixth time, his phone rang in his pocket.

“What?”

“Sammy, she there?”

“Nope.”

“Café Cutie left you high and dry.” Dean laughed. “Sorry, Sammy. Better luck next time.”

“She left me a note.”

“Well, this just got interesting. What’s it say?”

“She gave me her address.”

“Nice! So, she _just_ left you her address?”

“Well, no.”

“Some swanky boudoir pictures and a Penthouse Forum letter?”

“I think you’re confusing reality and porn again.”

Dean chuckled. “So, what’s this non-Penthouse Forum letter say?”

“She says I owe her a scone.”

“Am I supposed to know what that means? Or is that code for she lays down on the bed, and you put your --”

“Please, for the love of God, don’t finish that sentence.” Sam screwed up his face and pinched the bridge of his nose. “She says that there’s probably a good reason for me not showing up last week, like a night flight, or that I was trampled underfoot, or over the hills and far away, but I don’t --”

Dean burst out laughing. “Oh, Sammy, your Cinnamon Girl…she’s good.”

“ _What_?”

“You told her your name was Jim Page?”

“Yeah. She knew it was fake, but what does that have to do --”

“ _Night Flight, Trampled Under Foot,_ and _Over the Hills and Far Away_ : those are all Zep’s tunes. If you aren’t gonna to go to that address, I’m totally in; I could be happy with a cinnamon girl.”

Ignoring Dean’s Neil Young reference, Sam growled into the phone, “You about done?”

“Jeez. Yeah. So, what’s her name?”

After breathing out a huge sigh, Sam answered, “Kahlan Amnell.”

“Whoah. Where the hell’s her address?” Dean scoffed, “Friggin’ Aydindril?”

“I know.”

“Coincidence or fake?”

“Fake, but people use aliases for all sorts of reasons. She said she worked for a newspaper, and she was here on a story.”

Dean snorted. “In _Lebanon_?”

“Look, I already know she’s lying about her name, but there’s just…” Sam searched for the words in his brain to describe his attraction to you. It wasn’t just physical attraction; there was something else. Sam _had_ to know you. “There’s something about her.”

“ _I’ll bet there is_ ,” Dean answered slyly.

“Shut up.”

“You think she’s a hunter?

“Not sure, but she doesn’t seem the type.”

“You goin’ to her motel room?”

“Umm.” Sam flipped the cardboard coffee sleeve around in his fingers. “Yeah; I mean, I think so.”

“You need back-up?”

“Why would I need- She’s _just a girl_ , Dean.”

“Oo-kay, Gwen.”

“God, how do _you_ even know that?”

Dean didn’t answer; he just laughed in the phone.

Sam rolled his eyes. “All right, hanging up now.”

“Wait, wait, wait! Sammy, just one more thing!”

Sam knew that he was going to regret letting his brother get in another word, but he still asked, “WHAT?”

“If things… you know… _go south_ , just show her your _Sword of Truth_.”

Sam rolled his eyes again and ended the call.

Once his things were quickly gathered, Sam took a breath, double checked the address, and made his way to 34 Circle Square.


	2. What's Your Name?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After Sam saw you reading and eating an apple cinnamon scone in his usual Wednesday morning cafe, he couldn't get you out of his head. He thought about you in his bed, in the shower, and on your knees in front of him with your lips wrapped around his cock. 
> 
> He wasn't expecting it, but the following Wednesday, you came up to his table. The two of you had a chance to talk a little bit, and both you and he agreed to meet at the cafe the following Wednesday. 
> 
> Sam didn't know it, but you couldn't get him out of your head either and spent your nights imagining that "Jim" came to your motel room. Waiting for the next Wednesday, you used your vibrator and your hands to make yourself come, fantasizing that it was "Jim" and not you.
> 
> Unfortunately, because of a case, Sam wasn't able to make it. The next week, he almost stopped going to the cafe all together, but Dean convinced him to just go. Sam did, but that time, you were the one who wasn't there. However, the barista gave him a note that you wrote the week before when he didn't show, and you gave him the address to your motel room, inviting him for coffee. 
> 
> You signed your note with the name 'Kahlan Amnell,' but Sam _had_ to learn your real name.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One word: 'smut'. :D
> 
> Also, if you didn't catch it, _Caught Up In You_ is the title of a song by 38 Special.  
>  The lyric goes, "So caught up in you, little girl...." 
> 
> _What's Your Name?_ is the title of a song by Lynyrd Skynyrd.  
>  The lyric goes, "What's your name, little girl?
> 
> See what I'm doing there?
> 
> And, as always, a special thanks to LadyAtaralasse for beta'ing and giving me the little confidence boosts that she does. You're so amazing, darlin' I can hardly stand it.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

All Tuesday evening and night, your sister had been working a case involving a couple of djinn, and needed you to remotely assist her as she searched for them in an unused mental hospital. Thankfully, the facility still had twenty-four hour surveillance, so you hacked into their server and were your sister’s eyes and ears the whole night.

It had taken well over twelve hours, but the djinn were dead and the people rescued.

After you ended a call with your sister, you tossed your phone onto your bed and collapsed back next to it, exhausted.

The last time you looked at the alarm clock on your motel room’s bedside table, it was four thirty in the morning.

-

At exactly seven o’clock AM on the dot, your phone buzzed with a text from your sister. Once you blindly patted your hand along the wrinkled bedspread, found your phone, and made your eyes work, you smiled when you read the message:

 **[Dennee Amnell 7:00AM] Off to Raleigh. Call you when I get there.** **  
****[Kahlan Amnell 7:01AM] Be safe. XO** **  
** **[Dennee Amnell 7:02AM] Always am. XOXO**

After tossing your phone back on the bed, you almost closed your eyes and went back to sleep, but Wednesdays were your only day off from work. You didn’t want to sleep through it.

You heaved your exhausted body up from the bed and walked toward the bathroom in desperate need of a hot shower, shedding your clothes as you went.

The shower felt amazing, but the motel’s hot water supply was less than stellar. You quickly washed up, got dressed, and then started a pot of coffee – with a small scoop of cinnamon in with the grounds. The second the aroma wafted up into your nose, you thought about Jim and how you left him the note at the café, inviting him to your motel room.

For a half second, you thought that inviting a strange man to your room was a bad idea, but then you eyed all the places in your room where you had weapons stashed and reminded yourself that you were much stronger than you looked. Your hunter-mentor, Irv, had always made sure that you and your sister were capable and quick on your feet.

Even still, as you waited for your coffee to brew, you made sure that your back-up 9mm was still taped to the back of your headboard – and loaded. When it was, you dabbed some concealer over the dark circles under your eyes and put on some lip gloss and mascara. Sure, Jim might not have even showed, but there was no need to look like an extra from _The Walking Dead_ if you didn’t have to.

Once you were looking as presentable as you were going to get, there was a knock on your door.

Swallowing your heart that jumped up into your throat, you answered the door, sighing when you saw that it was the motel owner, Larry, and not Jim.

“’Mornin’, sunshine,” he greeted you with a cocky smile on his face.

You rolled your eyes at his greeting and his greasy comb-over. “What?”

“Just remindin’ you that your bill is due tomorrow. I need some cash by then if you’re gonna stay another week.”

“Well, you pay me tomorrow, so I’ll pay you then.”

“Guess that works out well, then, doesn’t it?”

“Guess so,” you sighed. “Anything else?”

The look that he gave you told you _exactly_ what he wanted, but Larry never said anything inappropriate aloud. It was always looks and sly innuendo, which made your skin crawl – more annoyance than disgust – but he was five foot four and about thirty pounds underweight. You could _totally_ rip his arms off if need be.

“Bye, Larry.”

With another weaselly grin, he answered, “Bye, Miss Amnell.”

You rolled your eyes and closed the door.

Just as the lock clicked in the latch, you heard the lady that sits up at the front desk, Marissa, park her car in the parking lot. On her way to the motel office, she chastised Larry as he walked away from your door, “Heaven’s sake, Larry! Leave that girl alone. You’re old enough to be her father!”

You chuckled to yourself, picked up a stray sock from the floor, and poured yourself a cup of coffee. After you took your first sip, you mentally went through your sister’s text messages and thought to yourself, _Maybe Jim won’t show? Raleigh wouldn’t be so bad this time of year…._

Sure, North Carolina _wouldn’t_ have been that bad, but you wanted Jim to show up, _God_ , did you want him to show.

From the second you left the note for him at the café, you couldn’t stop thinking about how much taller he was than you, and not just taller, how much _bigger_ he was than you. It was his hands, his stance, the tick in his jaw, how his hair curled just above his shoulders: you couldn’t stop thinking about it. But there was something else under all that, something mysterious, something kind and gentle, and maybe something not-so gentle.

It had always been your little secret that you craved that _not-so_ _gentle_ when it came to men. You wanted a rough voice to tell you ‘no; not yet,’ but you wanted that voice to be able to turn around and feel like velvet on your skin as it whispered the filthiest things in your ear. You wanted strong hands and arms to hold you down and give you things that made you go out of your mind and maybe slap your ass a couple of times, but you also wanted those same hands to be able to trace the slope of your jaw and lips so slowly that it drove you insane.

Of course, that was a tall order. There had been a couple guys who just didn’t fit the bill – one got the jeebs when you told him what you wanted, and one, you realized was a dick before he walked through your door. And, sure, Jim, could have been exactly the same, but there was just something about him that made you want to try.

You were a single gal with little obligation, over age, and you were always safe – your 9mm was perfectly within reach of your bed, and there was a box of condoms in your bedside table drawer. You had an itch that you just couldn’t scratch, and maybe Jim wasn’t the not-so-gentle-whisper-filthy-shit-in-your-ears-until-you’re-out-of-your-mind kind of guy, but there was still that something about him that piqued your interest.

After your second cup of cinnamon-laced coffee, you started to feel awake, but the caffeine mixed with anticipation gave you a slight case of the jitters. You pushed your coffee away and started to nibble on a handful of crackers, when there was a knock at the door.

Praying to any god who would listen, you begged for owner of the hand who was knocking on your door to be anyone but Larry. Once your silent prayers had been sent, you wiped your cracker crumbs on your jeans and opened the door.

Jim was standing there with a white paper bag in one hand, while his other ran through his brown hair. He gave you a look that you thought looked a little surprised, but then he smiled.

“Jim.” You smiled back and opened the door for him. “You came.”

“I did.” He kept his smile, but handed you the white paper bag. “Brought scones, too.”

“Perfect,” you answered.

As you spoke, you watched Jim almost hesitate for a fraction of a second before running his hand through his hair one more time. Then, after a beat, he finally accepted your silent invitation into your motel room.

You watched him give your room a once over as you closed the door and realized that he looked a little bit nervous. After thinking for a second, you came up with a plan that you hoped would make Jim a little more comfortable with you.

“Okay, just sit down for a second,” you told him and set the white paper bag of scones on the table next to the coffee pot. “Just watch TV, thumb through a magazine, whatever. I just have to go up to the office and pay for another week. Okay?”

Jim gave you a confused look.

“What? Are you going to steal my crackers and coffee? I’ll be back in two minutes.”

Laughing softly to himself, Jim nodded his head. “Fair enough.”

You took your purse off the dresser, stepped into your shoes, and walked out the door, hoping that your little plan worked. You were still about ninety-five percent sure that Jim was a hunter, and you knew if he got a few minutes to look around your room and start to figure you out, he’d be a little bit more comfortable.

Jim was like a puppy, and you were letting him smell your hand.

*//*

As soon as you closed the door behind you, habit made Sam start to look at some of the things that you had lying around. Your motel room had a familiar feel – mismatched vintage with an excessive hint of tack – they all looked the same.

While he looked for little clues to learn more about you, Sam found a laptop on your dresser that was password protected. He tried to guess your password for about fifteen seconds, but when it wasn’t something simple like, ‘password’ or ‘qwerty,’ he moved on.

Looking for just a hint of _something_ about you, Sam quickly looked in your dresser. In the bottom two drawers, he only found clothes, but in the top drawer with your socks, he found a Colt Pony. Sam looked at it for a couple seconds, but when he saw that the bullets weren’t silver, he figured that since you appeared to be a single girl – aka: he _hoped_ that you were a single girl – having a gun buried in with your socks wasn’t that odd.

After he put the gun back where he found it, Sam ran his fingers along the spines of your books that sat in a neat row on your dresser. Your collection rivaled his own, but since none of the titles were anything out of the ordinary, Sam moved on.

On your bedside table, he found your press pass, a half-empty bottle of water, and a couple of receipts from the café, but it was in the drawer of the table that he found a bottle of lube, a box of condoms, a pair of nipple clamps, and two vibrators. Before he could close the drawer again, Sam’s mind went wild with a series of filthy images: you spread out on the bed for him, filled with both vibrators, your nipples puffy and reddened from the clamps, while you begged him touch you and make you come.

Sam heard himself groan, adjusted his pants, quickly closed _the_ _drawer,_ and sat down in the chair.

“So,” you said as you walked in the door, two seconds later. “I’m surprised you came.”

Sam watched you sit down in the chair across from him at the table and pour him a cup of coffee – he smiled when he smelled the cinnamon. “I didn’t mean to stand you up. I had to go out of town on Sunday, and I didn’t get back until late Wednesday night. Sorry ‘bout that. I hope you didn’t wait too long.”

“Longer than I care to admit, but oh well.” You shrugged like it was no big thing, but Sam saw your cheeks turn a little pink. “I left you the note just in case…. I didn’t want you to think _I_ stood _you_ up.”

“I’m glad you left it,” Sam answered, unable to stop himself from smiling. “But it took me a minute to get the Zeppelin jokes….”

“You’re kidding me? No one’s ever made a ‘Jimmy Page’ joke to you in your entire life? It’s a pretty famous name….”

Sam knew that you were baiting him. He knew that you knew ‘Jim Page’ wasn’t his name. He thought about letting it go, but he didn’t. “But Mother Confessors, they haven’t been that common since the Second D’Haran War. Have they?”

“Touché,” you murmured softly with a faint look of shock and surprise on your face. The look lasted only a second, then you almost looked like you were impressed with the fact that Sam did know who your alias, Kahlan Amnell was, but then a second later, you grinned at him. “I’ll show you mine, _if_ you show me yours.”

Your response made Sam swallow a groan.

For weeks he’d been fantasizing about what you sounded like when you moaned or when you cried out his name. Sam wondered if you’d be able to moan out all the filthy things he dreamed you did, and it was those nine little words that made Sam almost positive you could.

“Deal.” He matched your grin. “Mother Confessors first.”

Your smirk stayed on your face, but you shook your head. “No way. You first.”

“Fine.” Not taking his eyes away from yours, Sam reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out a silver flask of holy water. He slid it across the table, and when you caught it with your hand, he firmly said, “Drain it.”

You held his eyes for a second longer than Sam was expecting, but you replied a sassy, “Yes, Sir.”

Sam was thankful the table covered his lap, because your answer made him rock hard. Then, you surprised him when you pulled out a flask of your own and slid it across the table to him. “After you.”

After you emptied Sam’s flask, you passed it back to him, and he passed you back yours, then covertly adjusted his zipper. “Did you know I was a hunter?”

“Not at first,” you answered honestly. “But then the day I talked to you, I saw the busted-up Walkman-turned-EMF in your bag, so I figured it out. Did you make me right away?”

“It crossed my mind,” Sam admitted, then thought to himself, _Among other things_. “Why did you ask me to come here? Are you in trouble?”

With a smirk that didn’t quite match your tone, you coyly but quietly asked, “I’m not sure yet. Am I?”

Sam grinned darkly. _Well, that answers any questions I might have had._ “We’ll see, but if you keep answering my questions with questions of your own, you might be.”

You actually laughed. “Why did you come here?”

Sam cocked an eyebrow at your question, but you continued to smirk at him.

“What? It’s a valid question.”

Before he could answer your question, a phone vibrated to his left. Sam watched you stand up from your chair, walk over, pick it up off your bed, send a quick text, then tuck it into your pocket.

Moving slow and fluid, not making a sound, he also stood up from his chair and moved so that he was standing behind you. Keeping his voice soft, Sam whispered in your ear, “Why did you ask me here?”

Seeing how your breath quickened just from him standing close to you, Sam gently reached up to your shoulder and turned you around until you faced him. He asked again, “Why did you ask me here?”

“Because I wanted to see you again,” you softly answered, then quietly moaned when Sam wrapped his hands around your hips and walked you backward toward the bed. Once you were there, you looked up at him and murmured something that he was _not_ expecting. “I asked you here for the same reason you came here.”

After Sam laid you down on your bed, he climbed up between your knees and leaned over you with his face in yours. “Yeah?”

As you nodded your head, Sam watched you lick your tongue over your bottom lip like you were hoping for a taste. When you didn’t get it, he felt you sigh warm and gentle against his cheek, but then he slowly pressed his lips against yours.

Sam finally got to taste you, and your next sigh was just as warm and gentle as the first.

Sure, Sam was used to being taller and larger than just about everyone, but from his kneeling position, leaning over you, he realized how small you were under him.

Earlier that morning, Dean had joked that if Sam wasn’t going to go to the café to see you, Dean would. Sam felt a protective streak run through him, and as you let him lay you down on the bed and cover your body with his, he felt it again.

Tracing the outside curve of your shoulder and arm, Sam brushed his fingers over yours, took one of your wrists in his hand and raised your arm up over your head. He brought his lips back down to yours and without touching your mouth, he whispered, “You don’t even know me.”

“I guess that’s true,” you answered quietly, licking your lips.

Sam groaned when you pressed your knees and inner thighs tight against his hips.

“But….” you started again, and before Sam even realized what was happening, he was flat on his back with you on top of him. Straddling his hips, you smirked down on him. “ _You_ don’t even know _me._ ”

It’s not very often that Sam lets his guard down, but he did when he climbed up on your bed. He knew it was because he was too busy thinking about how small you looked below him, how vulnerable you were inviting a strange man into your motel room, but Sam was wrong.

He laid below _you_ on your bed, and it hit Sam that you were a hunter. Hunters are strong and fast. They blend in and look unsuspecting, and you were all of those things.

Sam may have wanted you before, but looking up at you, seeing you proud that you proved him wrong, Sam _craved_ you.

Just as fast as you flipped him over, he did the exact same maneuver, pushing you back into the mattress. He heard you yelp in surprise, then laugh when you realized what happened. “What was that for?”

Sam kissed your laugh right into his mouth, then answered. “I don’t bottom.”

“That’s good,” you murmured back.

“Yeah? How so?”

“Because I don’t top.”

You tried to kiss him, but Sam teasingly pulled away from you. “That _is_ a good thing.”  

When you tried to kiss Sam again, he just _couldn’t_ pull away, and he kissed you the way he imagined himself doing every single day for two weeks.

As he felt your tongue move with his, Sam took his fingers away from your wrist, slid them up your hand, and threaded them with yours. He teased your tongue, tasted your mouth, and softly nibbled on your lips for a few minutes, and then pulled away, so that he could look at how flushed your mouth was.

With one hand laced with yours, Sam used his other hand to gently cup your chin and lightly brushed his thumb over your bottom lip. A groan slipped from his lips when you opened your mouth to lick at his thumb and then suck it into your mouth.

 _Finally_ seeing some of the many things he fantasized in his dirty daydreams in the weeks before, Sam could only watch your eyes flutter closed as you mouthed at the tip of his thumb, and then lick down and around his second knuckle. Not taking his eyes away from your mouth, Sam used his knees to nudge your thighs further apart. The second he did, your eyes popped open, and you looked up at him.

Sam knew what he wanted, knew all the things that got him off. He wanted to watch you writhe and drip, chanting his name over and over again, begging him to let you come, but he _had to know_ that’s what you wanted too. You dropped subtle – and not so subtle – hints almost the second he walked into your motel room. You even said that you asked him to come to your motel room for the same reason he showed up, but Sam needed to know _for sure_.

Slowly working his thumb in and out of your mouth, Sam murmured, “Tell me what you want.”

You didn’t take your mouth away from his second knuckle, but he felt one of your fingers slip under one of his belt loops and pull him closer to you. After pushing his thumb away with your tongue, you kissed the tip. “I thought I made that pretty obvious.”

Sam reached down, took your hand in his, and had you cup him through his jeans. He had to pause to groan when your fingers lightly stroked the tautly pulled denim. It felt _so good_ , and he almost reached to pull your shirt over your head and just _start_ , but the fact that you told him you ‘didn’t top’ spoke loudly in Sam’s head.

It wasn’t very often that he found what he needed on the road, and it was almost never that he found a girl who was into the same things as he. Sure, finding a girl to sleep with was something that Sam never had a problem with in his adult years – he may have hardly ever done it, but he _could_ do it– but to find a girl who was the bottom to his top? That almost never happened, and Sam was pretty sure there wasn’t a blue moon due for quite some time.

With all that in mind, Sam took a chance and asked, “Would you still want it if I told you I wanted to make you beg for it? Or if I told you I wanted to tease you and only let you come _when_ _I say_?”

As Sam watched your pupils cover all but a tiny circle around your irises, you sighed something that sounded a little bit like, “Holy shit,” but a beat later you answered a weak and wrecked, “Uh huh.”

“I need a ‘yes’ or a ‘no’. _Always_ ‘yes’ or ‘no’.”

“Yes.”

Sam’s mind started to go through thirty different scenarios all at once, but he made himself stop. He took a breath and cleared his throat. “Just to make sure we’re on the same page, you bottom, and I top.”

“Same page,” you answered quickly.

Partly because he was curious and partly because he thought he should probably know, he asked, “You ever done this before?”

“Yes.” You swallowed so hard that Sam could hear it, and for the first time, he could hear nervousness in your voice. You covered it up almost flawlessly, but he heard your voice just barely shake when you added, “But not like this.”

Gently stroking your flushed cheek, Sam explained, “If you don’t want to, we don’t have t--”

“I want to,” you quickly interrupted, and that time he couldn’t detect the shake in your voice again.

As soon as the words escaped your lips, Sam had to fight off the urge to yank your clothes off and fuck you until both he and you came shouting and screaming. He wanted to kiss you and lick your lips open, taste the words and cinnamon coffee and moans on your tongue, and make them _his._  For weeks Sam thought of nothing _but_ doing those very things to you.

Finally, you were right in front of him, so he asked, “Are you sure?”

Unwaveringly, you answered, “Yes.”

There was a second that Sam _had_ to close his eyes and take another breath to get control of himself. When he had it, he pushed himself up off the bed and stood in front of your bend knees. “Pick a safeword.”

He watched sit up on the bed, and your eyes flitting away from his and landing somewhere near his belt buckle. “Your car. It’s an Impala. Right?”

Realizing that you weren’t looking at his belt buckle, Sam couldn’t help but laugh. He rubbed his thumb over the protrusion that Dean’s car keys made in his pocket. “You want to use ‘Impala’ as our safeword?” When you only nodded your head, he waited a second, then said, “Answer out loud.”

“Oh,” you stammered for a half of a second, then took a deep breath and answered, “Yes. Impala.”

“Very good. Now, say it _again_.”

“Impala.”

“If I do something you don’t like, or you want me to stop, or if _anything_ in _any way_ is too much, what do you say?”

“Impala.”

Reaching down, Sam took your chin in his hand and brought his thumb back to your lips. “Very good.” He traced their fullness, but took his hand away when you tried to lick his thumb back into your mouth.

Sam almost left it at that, but then he figured, _If I’m going to do it, I might as well go all in._ “What if I told you I like to watch; that I wanted to watch you touch yourself? Would you still want this?”

“Yes,” you answered, and it was much more confident than any of the others.

Sam liked that.

“Lay back down.”

You did what he told you to do, but started to pull off your shirt.

“Did I _say_ you could take your clothes off?”

“No… _Sir?_ ”

Sam chuckled at your subtle question, but because he’d been forced to say ‘yes, sir,’ to his dad throughout his life, he told you, “I think ‘Sam’ will do just fine.”

“Sam,” you repeated softly like you were testing how the three letter word felt on your tongue after hearing it for the first time. When you murmured it to yourself again, Sam groaned; he waited weeks to hear you say his name. “No, Sam.”

“Good girl,” he praised you and loved how your eyes went dark at how he addressed you. “Clothes off.”

Sam noticed that you never took your eyes off of him while you pushed your jeans and panties down your legs, then pulled your shirt up over your head and unclasped your bra. Reaching forward, he slid the straps down your shoulders, and even though his fingertips barely touched you, he saw goosebumps form on your skin.

“Lay back with your knees up and spread; let me get a look at you.”

Sam’s heart was pounding in his chest when he let his eyes run down between your legs. He ghosted his fingers just centimeters above your damp folds, feeling the heat from your body, and he groaned at your visible wetness and the little whimper-sounds that you made.

Quickly, Sam shrugged off his jacket while he toed off his boots, then pulled his shirts over his head and pushed his jeans down to the floor. Kicking your clothes out of the way and dragging his chair to the side of the bed, directly in front of your spread legs, Sam sat down and looked at you. “I want to watch you touch yourself; rub your clit for me.”

Another whimper escaped your mouth, and Sam didn’t know what surprised him more: the fact that you did _exactly_ what he told you to do, or the sight of your fingers making circles around your clit. Whichever it was, it was fucking hot, and he was hooked. He didn’t know your name or anything about you, but he knew he wanted to find out _everything._

He leaned forward and barely touched your skin as he ran his hands up and down the insides of your thighs, down your calves, to your ankles, then back up to hovering over your center. When his fingertips traced your slick knuckles, your hand started to move away, but he grabbed your wrist.

“I don’t remember saying you could stop.” Immediately, your fingers started swirling around your clit again, and Sam leaned further forward so he could press a barely-there kiss on the inside of your thigh. “God, there’s so many things I want to do to you. I’ve been thinking about you for weeks, and I don’t even fucking know your name.”

“_______,” you moaned out.

Sam kicked off his boxers and climbed up on the bed next to you. He kissed your cheek, down your jaw, then nipped at your earlobe, and because he liked how you responded to it before, he whispered, “________, you’re a good girl, aren’t you?”

He watched your eyes flick up to him and stare for just a second. Then, your eyes fluttered closed, and you answered, “Yes, Sam.”

God, Sam _loved_ when you said he his name.

When he kissed down your neck, he grazed his fingers down the curve of your shoulder. “Do you want to come? ’Cause good girls ask for what they want.” He could tell you did: your hips were rocking against your own hand, your cheeks were flushed, your lips were dark, and your breathing was heavy.

“Please, Sam, can I come?” Your voice was ragged, and each time you moaned his name, his need to fuck you hard and fast increased. However, he just kissed you hard on the mouth and fucked it with his tongue instead.

As his tongue moved against yours, he could hear your fingers moving between your legs; he could _hear_ how wet you were. When he pulled his mouth away from yours, you panted in his face, waiting eagerly for his response. He grinned down at you and answered your question in a dark tone, “No; not yet.”

Squeezing your eyes shut at the denial, you whimpered. Sam loved the sound and wanted to hear more of it, but because he didn’t know how long you could take him having you edge, he took your hand away from your dripping and needy pussy.

As he did, Sam noticed that your hips lifted up off the bed and chased your own hand. He gave it back, but only rested the palm of your hand on your lower stomach and positioned your middle finger just over your glistening pussy lips.

Circling your nipples with the tips of his fingers, he asked, “So, I’ve already told you that I’ve been thinking about you for the last few weeks. Have you been thinking about me, too?”

“God, yes, Sam.” You nodded your head, and Sam could tell that you didn’t know whether to keep your eyes open and watch him or close them and let him watch you. He grinned when you kept your eyes open and begged him, “Please….” Your hips rocked on the bed. “Sam… _please_.”

“Shhh.” He kissed you softly, feeling your body writhe on the bed next to him.

While he continued to murmur soft and reassuring sounds in your ear, Sam once again realized how small you were next to him. He could very easily cover your whole body with his, feel every _single_ inch of you below him, while holding your curves in his hands and kissing your reddened lips.

“Sam,” you whimpered, “ _Please_.”

“Shhh,” Sam cooed again while dragging the tips of his fingers under the swell of your right breast and seeing how large his hand was in comparison to your ribcage. You were so… _little_ compared to him. “I will,” he promised, “but not yet, little girl.”

There was a second where both Sam and you just stopped. He looked at you, and you looked at him, and no one moved.

Sam knew that he just murmured one of the filthiest pet names that he ever heard, but he didn’t mean it like _that_ . You were literally _little_ under his body, in his hands, and against his lips. Sam almost took what he said back, but then he watched you shiver and felt squeeze your thighs together: you _liked_ it. Just to make sure, he asked, “Do you like when I call you that?”

Squirming on the bed and panting, you only nodded your head. After nudging your knees back open, Sam ran his fingertips up one of your inner thighs to trace your soaked lower lips. You whined at his touch, but Sam whispered into your ear, “If you wanna come, say what you’re supposed to say. Do you like it when I call you ‘little girl’?”

“Yes, Sam; I like it,” you quickly moaned and tried to push yourself tighter against Sam’s hand, but he took it away. “No, no, no,” you whined. “Please, Sam. _Please,_ let me come.”

“There’s a good little girl,” Sam groaned, loving how you begged him.

Taking his hands away from you completely, he took his dripping cock in his hand and started to stroke himself. He watched you watch him for a few minutes while you caught your breath, but stopped when he felt your hand brush against his thigh.

“Can I?” Your eyes were so wide, they were practically begging him. “Please, Sam, can I touch you?”

“Fuck,” he gritted out and rested his forehead on your bent knee. “God, yes. C’mere.” He helped you so you were sitting up on the bed, and he leaned back against the headboard.

He ran his fingers through your hair and watched you wrap your hand around his cock. Your fingers were so soft, the pressure not nearly enough, but it was _exactly_ what he wanted.

With ragged breaths, he watched your thumb pick up the stream of pre-come and smear it around the tip, then bring it down the length of his shaft. While your hand slowly jacked him off, your mouth kissed at his lips, his jaw, and his neck, down to his nipples, and his stomach, then you looked up at him. He could tell by the look on your face that you were silently asking for permission to blow him.

“Holy shit. Fuck, yes. Been thinking ‘bout seeing your lips wrapped around my cock for weeks. Go ahead, little girl, let me see.”

As soon as your tongue kitten-licked at the tip, Sam’s head fell back against the headboard, but he watched through hooded eyes while you sucked him down. Reflexively, his hips slightly thrust up against your mouth, and when you didn’t pull off of him or back away, he threaded his fingers into your hair and slowly moved your mouth over himself.

Wanting to watch you as he gently fucked himself with your mouth, Sam carefully gathered all your hair into one hand. Just like he’d imagined, your shiny lips wrapped around his cock perfectly, your warm tongue licked and flicked in all the right places, and Sam could have watched you like that for hours. Instead, he only watched for a few minutes and then moved his other hand down between your legs. When his fingers found your clit and _finally_ touched it the way he knew you wanted him to, he both felt and heard you squeal around his dick, and he had to quickly pull you off of him. Quickly, wrapped his fist around the base of his cock, or he would have blown right then.

A trail of pre-come and saliva linked your mouth to the head of his cock, and he groaned loudly when he watched you lick it away from your swollen lips.

“Lay down, on your back. Knees up, again.” He helped you lay back on the pillows, and kissed all the way down your body, nipping and licking over your nipples and soft skin.

After he moved so he was kneeling between your legs, he slowly eased a finger inside of you while thumbing at your clit. You made the hottest and most beautiful sounds that Sam had ever heard, and after a minute, you started to tremble in his hands. He absolutely loved the sight, but still asked, “How’re you doin’, little girl?”

“M’good, Sam. Need to come- I… _Oh, God_ \- I can’t.”

Sam eased his finger back out of you and rubbed the inside of your thigh. “This too much? You _have to_ tell me….”

“No,” you panted and licked your lips. “Just- It’s… _Jesus._  It’s harder when it’s not….”

“Why is it harder? Harder than what?” Sam asked, bending down to nose at your skin. “Please. Tell me.”

“It’s harder when it’s not me- when I’m not the one…doing it.”

There was a half second of silence where Sam found himself drawing his eyebrows together in confusion, but then he realized what you were telling him.

“Holy shit,” he sighed deeply, picturing you using one of those vibrators in your bedside table drawer, edging yourself. Not wanting to move away from you to reach for your drawer, Sam took your right hand in his and brought it down between your legs. “Show me. God, _please._ I have to see.”

With his cock leaking like a faucet between his legs, Sam watched you swirl your fingers around your swollen clit at your own tempo and pace, backing off when you got close over and over again. When you did it for the fourth time, he slowly brought up his pointer and middle finger, dragged them through slickness, and rubbed your skin before slowly easing two fingers inside of you.

As he just barely worked them in and out of you, Sam watched you leave the tip of your finger on your clit, but just barely move it back and forth. Knowing that you were so close from both his hand and yours, made Sam’s cock leak and throb almost painfully.

Wanting to continue watching, Sam forced himself to deal with the throbbing ache for another few minutes. He worked you open until he could easily fit three of his fingers, then took his hand away. Licking his fingers clean, he groaned, “Fuck, you taste _so_ good.”

“Sam,” you whined his name. “I can’t. I really, _really_ can’t.”

“I know,” he answered soothingly and took your hand away from your dripping pussy. After licking your fingers clean, he kissed you softly. “Breathe for a minute.”

While you did what he asked, Sam murmured soft and reassuring praises in your ear, and when he saw that your breathing started to even out, he kissed his way up your neck and whispered in your ear, “Condoms?”

You actually chuckled. “You know where they are.”

Sam found himself a little confused and lifted his face up to look at you. “I do?”

Still breathing a little heavily, you nodded your head with a grin on your face. “I know you looked through my stuff while I paid for my room.”

Sam had to laugh. “That so?”

You just continued to grin breathlessly, and Sam just _had to_ kiss you.

Once he kissed you until _he_ was breathless, Sam reached toward _the drawer_ that he looked through while you were paying for your motel room for another week. When he felt around for the box of condoms, his fingers brushed up against the ribbed, silicone shaft of one of your vibrators. Sam almost took it out of the drawer, but at the last second he changed his mind and just took out the box of condoms and a bottle of lube.

Once the latex was rolled down over him and sufficiently lubricated, Sam kissed his way up your body to your mouth, then slowly eased his aching cock inside of you. When he felt you wince slightly against his lips, he carefully pulled out of you and pushed himself up onto his knees. Taking your hips in his hands, Sam tilted them up toward him, spread more of your wetness around his rigid length, and then carefully tried again.

Inch by inch, Sam watched your tight pussy take as much of him as would fit, and he rocked into you as slowly as he could, even though he wanted to pound into you. He wanted to feel your body tremble under his as you came, he wanted to scoop you up in his arms and pull you tight to him, but he could feel your hot and wet walls shudder and clench around him. Sam knew there was no way he was going to last.

“Sam,” you whimpered his name, and he moaned at the sound of your voice. “Please….”

He couldn’t last much longer, but Sam still asked, “You can’t wait anymore, huh, little girl?”

“No, Sam,” you sobbed, trying to hold tighter to his body. “Please, please, _please_.”

“Not yet,” Sam answered in a husky voice as his hips picked up in speed.

When he felt you clench and squeeze around him, he knew you weren’t going to last any longer than he, so he reached his hand down between the two of you and found your clit again. The second his fingers rubbed over it, your back instantly arched up off the bed, your hips crashed up into his, and he was practically drunk on the fact that you _still_ didn’t come. He kissed up your neck, to your ear, and whispered, “Come for me, little girl.”

As soon as he said the words, Sam didn’t just _see_ you come, he _felt_ it. He almost came right there with you, but he made himself wait because he wanted to watch you.

You were panting against his neck and chest, searching for his mouth, and when you finally came, you cried out loudly into his ear. It was exactly what he wanted; exactly what he’d been thinking about _for_ _weeks_.

He loved how your body rose up off the mattress to wrap your arms tighter around his neck and to clench your legs tighter around his hips. When you were glued to him, Sam pulled you even closer, his body flush and tight with yours, and he kissed you _exactly_ the way he wanted to for weeks.

When you moaned out Sam’s name against his lips, begging him to let you come again, he lost it. He somehow gritted out a, “Yes, little girl,” and pounded himself up into you, fucking you as hard and as fast as he imagined himself doing in the shower, his bed, on any surface he could reach.

You just barely whispered his name one more time and every muscle in Sam body clenched, and his vision blurred when he came.

When he opened his eyes, you were still clinging to him, pressed tightly up against his chest, and Sam kept you close to him while he got rid of the condom, then laid back on the pillows. For what felt like hours, days even, he just laid in bed with you on top of him, dragging his fingers delicately up and down your back while you and he each caught your breaths.

After a minute, Sam felt you shift on top of him and heard you quietly clear your throat. He looked over on your end table and found a bottle of water.

“Here,” he whispered and sat up on the bed slightly, holding the bottle up to your lips. “Drink.” Your eyes stayed closed while you drank what was left in the bottle, and when it was empty, he rested back down on the pillows and held you close. “______?”

“Mmmm,” you moaned a happy and satisfied little noise, and Sam smirked.

“Just wanted to see how you were doin’.”

“M’good. Sleepy.” You snuggled further into him. “You?”

“Same.” He kissed the top of your head and held you closer.

After a long minute, Sam actually thought you’d fallen asleep, but you asked, “Will you be here when I wake up?”

That was typically the awkward part for Sam. He wasn’t a ‘love-‘em-and-leave-‘em kind of guy, in fact, he hated that part, but he always knew he could never stay. However, that time, he didn’t know if it was some sort of post-orgasmic-bliss or what it was, but he asked, “Do you want me to be?”

A few seconds longer than what he anticipated passed after his question. For a second, Sam thought maybe you weren’t asking him to stay; maybe you were wondering if he was going to be there when you woke up, so that you could be prepared. In those seconds, Sam realized that he didn’t want to leave, then there was a tiny kiss on the middle of his chest and a barely audible whisper that made all those thoughts go out of his mind.

“Stay.”

“Okay; I’ll be here when you wake up.” He kissed the top of your head again.

For about an hour, Sam lay in your bed with you, just listening to you breathe, enjoying the feeling of your weight on top of him, and how soft your skin was in his hands. Eventually, the quiet in the room was just peaceful enough that he let himself fall asleep.


	3. I Never Knew There'd Come A Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After you and Sam slept together for the first time, both of you drifted off, blissfully exhausted. 
> 
> The hours went by comfortable and warm for you and Sam, but for Dean, back at the bunker, twelve hours was just too long. The only thing he knew was that you had a fake name and occupation and that Sam wasn't answering his phone calls or texts. 
> 
> He tracked Sam's GPS to your motel room, and you got to meet Dean for the first time.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> An extra special thank you to ladyataralasse for helping me with my issues when half of the time I don't even know I have them. :) And, for her awesome beta'ing skills. 
> 
> Also, maybe kind of buckle up a little bit for this chapter. You're going to learn a little bit more about the reader (where she comes from, how she started hunting, and how the world really is a small place) and things get a little (okay, a lot) angsty.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

The sun was just barely showing through the top of the window in your motel room when Sam started to wake up. He knew it was almost noon, but he was so warm and comfortable with your body on top of his, feeling the rhythmic in and out of your breathing against his chest.

Part of Sam was still surprised that he was where he was: in your motel room with _you_. Over the previous few weeks, he thought about you more often than not, and when he couldn’t make it to the café the Wednesday before, a tiny part of Sam thought that he’d never see you again.

But he did.

Sam got to feel you, taste you, and smell you, and even though he honestly had no idea who you really were, he wanted to find out.

As Sam closed his eyes and tried to go back to sleep, he thought about asking you for your number and seeing if you wanted to meet him the following Wednesday at the café. If that went well, there was a really nice place in Wichita that he saw the last time he and Dean drove through.

Then, just as he started to drift off, Sam had a thought. What if a case came up, and he wasn’t able to show up again? He hated the idea of letting you down or not keeping his word or having to come up with excuses for why he was late, but then it dawned on Sam all over again: you were a hunter.

Sam wouldn’t have to lie or make excuses; all he’d have to do was tell you the truth.

-

The second time that Sam woke up, it was dark in your motel room, but it wasn’t the dark that woke him up; it was his phone vibrating. Not wanting to wake you – or do anything to make you move away from him – Sam gently shifted and reached down to the floor to where he remembered dropping his jeans.

It took him a second to find his phone, and when he looked at it, there were six missed calls and ten text messages from Dean:

 **[R. Plant 10:14 AM] About time you get some ass.**  
**[R. Plant 11:34 AM] Bring food on your way back.**  
**[R. Plant 11:35 AM] Don’t forget pie.**  
**[R. Plant 11:36 AM] NOT CAKE!**  
**[R. Plant 4:29 PM] JFC How the hell long does it take you to bang a chick? I’m**  
**wasting away here.**  
**[R. Plant 6:11 PM] You have one hour to call me back or I’m coming to look for you**  
**and you better have pants on!**  
**[R. Plant 7:09 PM] YOU TOOK MY CAR!**  
**[R. Plant 7:33 PM] If your Cinnamon Girl is friggin eatin your ass I’m gonna be so**  
**pissed.**  
**[R. Plant 7:35 PM] That’s NOT what I meant. Oh God. Gross!**  
**[R. Plant 7:44 PM] Tracked your GPS. You’re at the motel by the Gas n Sip. If I have**  
**to walk my ass down there so help me god Sammy!**  
**[R. Plant 8:12 PM] If you’re not dead you’re going to wish you were. I’m fucking**  
**cold.**

As soon as Sam read the last text message, there was a loud bang on your motel room door.

“Sam! If you don’t come out, I’m comin’ in!”

“_______,” Sam softly murmured your name and shook you gently. “I gotta get up for a second.”

Another loud bang came from your door, but you almost didn’t hear it. In your half-asleep state, Sam carefully lifted you up off of him, then took a handful of seconds to kiss you before standing up from your bed. 

“DEAN! Hang on a sec!” he yelled at the door as he yanked his jeans up his legs and turned to look at you. “It’s my brother. I’ll be right back. Okay?” He saw that your clothes were scattered around the room, so he handed you his plaid, button-up shirt. “Two seconds.”

“Okay.” You nodded your head and started to clumsily work the buttons closed on Sam’s shirt.

“ _Jesus_ , Dean! I’m fine!” he yelled when he opened the door.

Dean pushed past him and walked right into the room. “What the fuck, Sam!? I walked the whole way here!”

Sam quickly stood in front of you while you buttoned up his shirt over your chest, and he pulled his white tee shirt over his head. “Why didn’t you take one of the cars in the garage? Call a cab?”

“Well…‘cause…‘cause I just friggin’ didn’t.”

Once you managed to get all the buttons closed, you tried to covertly stand up from your bed and walk to the bathroom, but just as you took two steps, Sam’s brother caught you.

“So, _you’re_ Sammy’s cinnamon girl.” You watched him look you up and down with a knowing grin on his face. “Very nice.”

“I’m his _what_?” you asked with equal confusion and sass in your voice. Dean only answered you with an even wider grin, so you looked at Sam for some sort of explanation.

More embarrassed than anything, Sam shook his head and sighed, but before he could give you an answer, Dean butted in, “Sammy, here, told me about the cinnamon coffee and Aydindril.” He chuckled to himself. “Looks like Sam’s Sword of Truth got--”

Before Dean could finish, Sam pushed his brother out of your motel room and slammed the door behind himself. “What the _hell_ is the matter with you!?”

“What the hell is the matter with _me_?” Dean asked, shocked. “ _You’re_ the one who left at the ass crack of dawn to meet a girl who you _knew_ had a fake name! You took _my car_ for _twelve friggin’ hours_ , and you weren’t answering your phone! What the hell was I supposed to think?!”

Still standing in your motel room, you could hear every single word that Sam and his brother were saying. Before you could hear anything else that they said, the motel’s phone rang on your bedside table. “Hello?”

“What the hell do you have goin’ on over there!?” Larry, the owner of the motel and your boss, barked in the phone. “I got guests complainin’!”

“Larry,” you sighed into the phone. “ _I’m_ the only guest you’ve got.”

“Well, either way,” he grumbled. “Tell your damn gentlemen callers to shut the hell up, or your pretty ass is out.”

You wanted to argue that if Larry kicked you out, he’d lose his only maid and his laundry person, but you didn’t. “Fine.”

_Click._

Shaking your head at the motel owner, you hung up the phone, and walked over to the full-sized window next to the door.

Thankfully, Sam and Dean stopped yelling at each other, and since you didn’t have to relay Larry’s message to them, you stood there and really looked at Sam.

It wouldn’t have been an exaggeration to say that you thought about him a lot during the two weeks before. Among other things, more often than not, you caught yourself remembering the short conversation that the two of you had in the café and the way his skin felt against your lips when you whispered in his ear that first day you talked to him.

As you remembered it all over again, you brought your fingertips up to your lips and felt how swollen they were from Sam’s kisses. Quickly, you skimmed your eyes over his lips, and sure enough, they looked just as red and swollen as yours felt.

While you continued to look at Sam, you mentally took stock of the patches of your skin that slightly burned from the light stubble on his chin. Your reflection in the window showed you the pale red-purple mark just below your collar bone that you _just knew_ was going to grow as the evening went on. A happy giggle slipped out of your mouth as you had the thought, and then you remembered the little kiss that Sam gave you right after he gently woke you up.

It was just a small kiss, but it made you smile.

After you decided to throw all the one-night-stand rules out the window and ask Sam if he wanted to actually get some coffee the next Wednesday, the brothers started yelling at each other again.

Not wanting to get another phone call from Larry, you opened your motel room door, poked your head out, and loudly cleared your throat.

Sam and Dean turned to look at you.

“Uh, guys? The owner of this place just called about the two guys yelling in front of my room. He said if you don’t, and these are his words, not mine, if you two don’t shut the hell up, he’s gonna put my pretty ass on the street. So, uh, if Page and Plant could _ramble on_ at a lower decibel, I’d be _much obliged_. My room isn’t much, but it’s a _pleasant stay_.”

Hearing you make more ‘Jimmy Page’ jokes made Sam grin at you. One of Dean’s favorite songs was _Ramble On_ , and he constantly played it in the Impala. Sam understood that Zeppelin reference loud and clear.

Dean remembered the note that you left Sam at the café with all the Zeppelin song titles, and his mouth fell open at yet _another_ reference.

You smirked proudly at their responses and closed the door.

“Oh, Sammy,” Dean groaned appreciatively and let his head fall backwards. “They don’t make ‘em here like they do up in Aydindrill, do they?”

“Shut up,” Sam snapped, but he still had the grin on his face. “She’s not from Aydindril. Her name’s ________.”

“ _Nice_. So, what did you find out about her? Why the alias?”

Not wanting to take the time to discuss you with his brother, Sam told Dean, “Go back to the bunker. I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“Whoah. You’re stayin’?” She must give one hell of a--”

“ _Don’t_ ,” Sam warned roughly.

“Fine. Fine.” Dean held his hands up in mock-surrender. “It’s unseasonably chilly out here, tonight. I’ll just start up the car, and you can introduce me to your Cinnamon Girl. I can’t _wait_ to officially meet her.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam let out an annoyed groan. “Dean, no. Just go back--”

But Dean had already started up the Impala and was opening up the door to your motel room. Sam tried to block him, but Dean was too quick.

Inside your room, Sam expected to find you freaked out about Dean’s entrance. Instead, he found the blankets and sheets on your bed neatly made, you back in your clothes – Sam was slightly disappointed about that – and you sitting at the table drinking a beer with two more in your hand.

“Beer?” You nonchalantly held them up to Sam and Dean.

Dean took the two beers, handed one to Sam, and tossed his flask of holy water onto the table in front of you. “Drink it.”

“Dean,” Sam started, annoyed with his brother. “You don’t think I already did that?”

“It’s fine; not like I’m a demon or anything.” You shrugged your shoulders at Sam and drank the holy water.

“So, you _are_ a hunter!” Dean exclaimed.

Sam rolled his eyes. “ _Dean_.”

Dean ignored his brother. “You workin’ on a case? Anything we should know about?”

“I haven’t worked a case in a while,” you answered evasively, but still honestly. “I’ve just been kind of taking a break.”

Your obvious evasiveness irritated Dean. “Why? If you’re hidin’ from something, we need to know.”

“Dean!” Sam yelled that time. “That’s enough!”

“No; it’s not, Sammy!” Dean yelled back. “If she’s hidin’ from something, then that something’s gonna follow her here. And if that’s gonna happen, _we_ need to know about it!”

“I’m not hiding from anything!” you insisted. “I’m taking a break, a time out, I just needed-”

“Hunters don’t just _take breaks_ ,” Dean interrupted you. “They _lay low_ because they’re _hiding_.”

Sam was surprised at how you held yourself together during Dean’s interrogation, but Sam saw a flash in your eyes that let him know you weren’t quite telling the truth.

“Look, I ended up here a couple of months ago,” you finally explained. “Not that it’s any of _your_ damn business, but a guy I hunted with got killed. I’ve been on my own since shortly thereafter.”

Wanting to get the whole story, Dean barked, “What was his name?”

“All right, Dean,” Sam warned, “I’m serious; that’s enough.”

 _What the fuck is the matter with this guy?_ you thought to yourself. Your story was just that: _your story_ , and you didn’t have to answer to anyone else. “Why the hell does it matter to you?”

“Because it does. _What_. Was. _His_. Name?”

When you glared at Dean, he just glared right back at you. Seeing the serious look in his eyes, you knew the conversation wasn’t going end until you answered Dean’s question. He was very obviously the overprotective older brother. Having a younger sister yourself, you could relate. Still, you rolled your eyes and sighed. “Irv Franklin.”

Sam knew Irv, and, instantly, he got a large and heavy pit in the center of his stomach. “Dean. No. _Stop_.”

Dean ignored his brother. He _also_ knew Irv, and he was almost certain that you had to be lying. He put his face directly in yours. “Where did he die?”

“Dean! I mean it! Stop, right-”

“Eugene, Oregon,” you interrupted Sam and resisted the urge to slap the self-righteous look off of Dean’s face. “Anything else? Because I gotta say, right now, you’re the last person I want to have _this_ conversation with.”

“No,” Sam answered for Dean and glared at him. “He’s done.” His eyes moved over to you, and he made them soft again, trying to silently apologize. “I’ll be right back.”

Sam shrugged on his jacket and pushed Dean back outside. “What the hell was that?! How would you like if some random stranger just started grillin’ you about people we know who are dead?”

Dean paced back and forth on the sidewalk and continued to drink his beer. “Somethin’ seems off. She’s hiding something.”

“What the hell could she be hiding?” Sam yelled in a hushed growl.

“I don’t know, man.” Dean continued to pace back and forth and shook his head. “What she said…. Why would _I_ be the last person she wants to have that conversation with?”

“I’m sure she just meant she didn’t want to talk about Irv with some guy who was bein’ a dick.”

“I _wasn’t_ bein’ a dick.”

“Right,” Sam scoffed sarcastically.

“I’m telling you, she’s hiding something, Sammy,” Dean insisted.

“And _I’m telling you_ , she’s not.”

“All right. If you say so,” Dean conceded, though he didn’t really believe it; he just wanted to go back to the bunker. “Let’s go.” Sam was quiet for a second, and Dean caught his brother looking back at your motel room door. “What? You’re actually stayin’?”

“Well, I don’t know if she wants me to, _now._ ”

Dean laughed and shook his head. “There are etiquette to follow with these sorts of flings, Sammy. You typically leave once you’ve been… _flung_.”

Sam rolled his eyes and sarcastically sighed, “My brother, Emily Post.”

Still chucking to himself, Dean said, “Look, I don’t know who that is, but what I do know is that I’m just gonna stand here and finish my beer, then I’m leavin’. I’ll probably come to the Gas ‘n Sip in the morning around nine for breakfast.”

“Fine,” Sam gritted out.

“ _Fiiine_ ,” Dean teased, and watched his brother walk back into the motel room.

-

When Sam walked back into your motel room, you were sitting at the kitchenette table. The cups of coffee and scones that you and he had just barely touched that morning were replaced by two glass tumblers and a bottle of Jose Cuervo.

“Sorry about that,” Sam gently apologized and pulled out the chair to sit down. “Are you okay? My brother…he--”

“He’s Dean Winchester,” you interrupted and poured Sam a glass of tequila, then nudged it toward his side of the table. “Which makes you Sam Winchester.”

Feeling every ounce of his blood run cold, Sam froze a second before he sat down in the chair, and his mind immediately went back to one of the first things that you said to him, _I notice patterns. It’s kind of my thing_.

The first thing that Sam thought was _So what if she knows my name? I was going to tell her anyway_. Even if he wasn’t, there were often times that he introduced himself as, ‘ _I’m Sam Winchester. Shhh/Go here/Run/Get behind me/Hide/Don’t move/Tell me what you saw_ ,’ but as Sam watched you work so hard to keep your hands from shaking, he knew that the situation in front of him was _nothing_ like any other he ever encountered before. “How did you…?”

Hoping that the tequila would make your voice stop shaking, you took a small sip. “I should have figured it out before, but I didn’t until just now. Dean asked where Irv was….”

Sam felt his stomach sink when your voice broke, but he kept quiet.

“Your name is Sam,” you continued. “Your brother’s name is Dean, and you’re both hunters. The car….” You sighed, not really knowing what else to say, because you knew exactly who Sam was. “Whenever I bought a twelvie of LeBatts,” you smiled weakly at the memory, “Irv couldn’t shut up about you two.”

Hearing the attempted humor in your voice and remembering that Bobby talked about Irv when he drank the same beer, Sam smiled slightly, but it was forced. Absorbing and thinking for a minute, he finally took a seat in the chair. _Maybe Dean was right? Maybe she **is** hiding something? She knows who we are, where Irv was killed, and I’m pretty sure she knows Dean and I were there. Maybe she blames us? Wouldn’t be the first time. First things first…._ “Irv was a good hunter, a good _man_ , and I’m so sorry that he’s gone.”

Not knowing what to say, you swallowed the rest of your Jose. “Me too.”

Just like you did, Sam emptied his tequila. After you poured another couple fingers worth into his glass, he quietly asked, “How did you meet Irv?”

Studying the clear liquid in your glass, you thought about how meeting Sam was a strange turn of events, but him and his brother being the hunters that Irv always talked about and being in Oregon the day that Irv was killed wasn’t where the strange turn of events ended. “Sam, you really don’t want to know. Trust me.”

“I do,” Sam gently insisted. “If you don’t want to tell me, then you don’t have to, but I _do_ want to know.”

One of the very first things that Irv taught you was that you had to keep your shit together. You could freak out on the inside all you wanted, but you had to keep your poker face on while you worked.

The minute that you figured out who Sam was, that poker face went up, and while you know it wasn’t very good, the second you started to tell your story, your poker face was near non-existent. “A few years ago, a demon--” you paused to blink away a couple of hot tears. “It killed my step-dad and my mom. Irv…he just came out of nowhere; busted the door right off the hinges, yelling an exorcism, and he saved me and my little sister, Tracy.”

Sam’s mind searched a million miles a minute for how the name ‘Tracy’ went with the name ‘Irv Franklin’. After just a few seconds, his mind went back to Eugene, Oregon, Abaddon, and the ghost town – back when Gadreel was still possessing him.

_“You’re Tracy, right? I’m Sam Winchester,” Sam introduced himself._

_Tracy angrily huffed, “Good for you.”_

_Sam didn’t know why she was so angry, but he found out later that day._

_“All right,” Dean started. “We gotta flank SEAL team douche in there, so, uh, Irv, you’re with me; we’ll go left. Sam, you and Tracy, go right.”_

_Agreeing with Dean’s plan, Sam nodded his head. “Okay. Let’s move.”_

_Sam hadn’t known Tracy for more than a couple of hours. She seemed like she could handle herself, but she seemed so young. To give her some reassurance, he gently put his hand on her shoulder, but she quickly shrugged him away._

_“Don’t touch me!” she snarled._

_“Whoah,” Dean said when he saw Tracy’s reaction to Sam. “What’s the problem?”_

_“My **problem** is,” Tracy spat her words at Sam. “My parents are dead because of him.”_

_Sam was stunned by the accusation. “What?”_

_“I watched a demon slaughter my parents, and the whole time it talked about how it was celebrating. Some dumb kid let Lucifer out of his cage.”_

“Oh,” Sam barely breathed the word when he finally connected everything, not knowing what else to say. “Tracy Bell is your sister?”

Physically unable to look at him, you nodded your head, but forced yourself to answer, “Her dad married my mom when Tracy and I were kids.”

Suddenly, Sam felt like your motel room was too big and too small all at the same time. “So, you don’t just know my name, you know… _who_ _I am_.”

“I know enough,” you choked out, forcing your brain not to start playing every _single_ word that the demon said to you that night.

Your words were barely a whisper, but Sam heard them loud and clear. “I didn’t mean for --”

“Don’t,” you begged, squeezing your eyes shut and trying to block out the constant loop of words that already started in your brain. “Please, just _don’t_.”

Solemnly, Sam nodded his head. Knowing who – _what_ – he was and how his actions domino affected your life, he stood up from his chair.

Very carefully, he walked past your chair and grabbed his shirt and boots from the floor. Sam didn’t take time to put his boots on his feet, but after he walked back across your motel room to the door, he took a second to look back at you.

“I know what I did, and for what it’s worth…. He swallowed when his voice broke. “I’m _so_ sorry.”

Sitting in your chair, you held on to what was left of your poker face with a death-grip, but when Sam softly closed the door behind himself, there was nothing left for you to hold on to.

*//*

An hour later after leaving your motel room, Sam got back to the bunker to find Dean sitting at one of the tables eating a pizza and drinking a six pack of beer.

Dean looked up at him. “Sorry, Sammy; didn’t mean to wreck your fling.”

Sam grabbed a beer and angrily twisted the cap off. “ _You_ didn’t wreck anything… _I_ did. _____ knows who we are.”

Slamming his beer down on the table, Dean yelled, “You told her?!”

“No; I didn’t tell her! I didn’t have to!”

“Then how the fuck did she know?”

“She’s a hunter, Dean. She knew Irv, who knew Bobby… Irv was with us in Oregon, and she said that he talked about us, _before_. She noticed a pattern…”

“Well, what the hell pattern did she notice? We don’t exactly walk around wearing stickers on our clothes sayin’ ‘Hello. My name is Dean friggin’ Winchester, and I’m a hunter.’”

“I told her my first name, I said your first name, and the car. She put it together. It’s not exactly a leap.”

“So, she made you leave because Irv _died_ when he was with us?”

“Irv didn’t just die, Dean; he _sacrificed_ himself for us.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah; I know. I didn’t mean it like that, but still….”

“That’s not why I left.”

“ _You_ left?”

Unable to look up at Dean, Sam studied the swirls in the wood of the tabletop. “Tracy Bell is her sister.”

Dean looked at Sam with a confused look on his face, but his mind searched the same way Sam’s did to find the connection between Irv and Tracy. When he figured it out, he reacted just like Sam – with a dumbfounded, “Oh….” Then, he patted Sam on the shoulder as if to say, _Sorry, Sammy._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Irv Franklin](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Irv_Franklin)
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> [Tracy Bell](http://www.supernaturalwiki.com/index.php?title=Tracy_Bell)


	4. We're Just Two Lost Souls Swimming in a Fish Bowl

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A special keepsake helped you remember all the things that your mentor, Irv, taught you, while Sam worked back to back jobs in an attempt to keep his mind off of you. It didn't work, and Dean could have seen it from a hundred miles away, so he intervened.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a special thank you to ladyataralasse for her fab suggestions, beta'ing skills, and just for being the wonderful person that she is.  
> and another thank you goes out to theoriginalpossemagnet for feedback and her overall awesomeness. 
> 
> (both of these fine ladies are wonderful writers. Check them out!)
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

The night that your world shattered and changed forever was the same night that a demon made its way into your childhood home. That demon killed your parents while singing the praises of Sam Winchester.

The second you realized that Sam from the café was _Sam Winchester_ , you went into a state of shock, and all those painful memories came flooding back. You tried to keep a straight face, tried to keep your hands and voice from shaking, but it was impossible. Part of you was relieved that Sam didn’t try to press you to talk about it, but another part of you broke after he left your motel room.

Unable to move from your chair, you cried yourself to sleep, hearing every single word that demon spoke in your dreams.

The next morning, it took you a minute to get your bearings and remember everything, and the second you did, an anger that you never felt before grew inside of you. It reminded you of the anger that your sister felt for many years after learning exactly what Sam Winchester had done.

For nearly a week, you were pissed off at Sam and pissed off at the world. You were angry. You cried. You actually packed up every single thing you owned and were hell bent on going back on the road again, but as you shoved your back-up gun in your weapon bag, your hands brushed up against a tattered and torn flannel shirt.

As you took a moment to touch the smooth, gray material, you felt your anger start to slip away. The shirt was Irv’s, worn down to a scrap of cotton that was wrapped around an equally worn book. The book was Irv’s journal, filled with all of the details of every hunt, every monster, every case, every vic, and every survivor.

After Irv was killed, you and Tracy digitalized it, but you always kept the original. Holding onto something that was so important to both you and Irv, made you remember how your new life started.

_When your parents were killed and you learned what it was that killed them, you sat in a state of shock for days, unable to think about much of anything, least of all Sam Winchester. However, when you started to accept your new reality, Irv answered all the questions about Sam that he could, but you could still tell that he was holding things back. Still, it satisfied you for a while, and then one day, almost a year later, it was like Irv knew exactly what you were thinking. You had been hunting for a while, had just started to get your footing, and as you learned more about what you hunted, you had more questions, particularly about the night that your parents were killed and what you heard._

_Irv took you on a drive and introduced you to a man named Bobby Singer. He looked exhausted, like he had lost his whole world more than once, but he said a handful of words that stuck with you from that moment on._

_“Sam Winchester did everything that demon said he did. Now, I could tell you a story about loss and desperation and sacrifice like not many can comprehend. That story would be about freewill and choices: both good ones and ones of the worst kind, but I won’t. I know your parents are dead, and I won’t make excuses, because Sam **did** free Lucifer.” _

_You still remember that tears rolled down your cheeks, but Bobby professionally blinked his back, like he’d done it a million times._

_“He freed Lucifer, brought the baddest of bads topside, but Sam also put him back. The whole world is still spinning ‘cause **my boy** put the devil back in his box.” _

_“Y-your boy?” you asked through a silent sob. “He’s your-?”_

_Bobby blinked away more tears and held his chin high and proud. “The best a man could ever ask for.”_

_After that, Bobby started to walk out of the room, but stopped after a couple of steps. “Hunters are only human. We make all kinds of mistakes, and one day, you will too. There were lots of things that Sam did that he shoulda known not to do, but some of them….” Bobby breathed a heavy and haggard sigh. “Everyone makes mistakes. What matters is how you make them right.”_

_On the drive back home, you didn’t know whether to be angry or cry. “I still don’t understand!” You yelled. “Bobby talked about people making shit right, but my life is still ruined. MY PARENTS ARE STILL DEAD!”_

_Nodding his head, Irv told you, “I was kinda hopin’ that Bobby woulda told you the rest of the story, because I don’t know that I got all the facts.”_

_You angrily rolled your eyes and looked out the window; Irv was still not telling you everything._

_“I only heard it secondhand, so God only knows if I got it right, but a few years ago, Sam died. His brother, Dean, sold his soul to a cross-road demon to get Sam back. A year later, a demon came and made good on Dean’s deal, and there wasn’t a thing Sam could do about it.”_

_“I’m not really sure what that has to do with me,” you spat angrily._

_“While his brother was gone,” Irv gently started, “Sam supposedly did some shit that I’ll never have the balls to ask Bobby about. As far as I know, it’s just gossip, so I probably shouldn’t tell you-”_

_“I’m so sick of people keeping shit from me. Just **tell** me,” you snapped. _

_Irv sighed. You were right; he’d kept things from you long enough. “Awhile back, I heard some talk about Sam and how he could do… **things**. Some damn fools were sayin’ that he was drinking demon blood.”_

_“What?!” You yelled, while looking at Irv like he was drunk behind the wheel. “Why the hell would anybody-”_

_“I don’t know,” Irv interrupted you. “I ain’t got nothing to back it up. No facts, except what a couple’a drunk assholes said in a bar, but what I do know for sure is when Sam killed the demon that dragged his brother’s soul to Hell, it somehow freed Lucifer.”_

_Shocked, you looked up at Irv. “That’s how it happened?”_

_“As far as I can tell, yup. And like Bobby said, Sam Winchester didn’t just let the devil out; he put him back too. And what I gather is that when Sam locked the devil back up, he went in with it.” Irv swallowed. “And he’s still there.”_

_Understanding what that meant, you stared at Irv with horror on your face._

_“You and your sister can think whatever you want about Sam Winchester. I love you girls more than anything, and I would never judge you. As for me, Bobby would never steer me wrong. He vouched for Sam, and that’s all I need.”_

_That was the end of the conversation, but you never stopped thinking about Sam Winchester._

_Not too long after you met Bobby, you worked your first case by yourself. Just like Bobby warned you – **Hunters are only human. We make all kinds of mistakes, and one day, you will too**. – you made your first mistake. Innocent people were killed because you made the wrong choice. No matter how many times you tried to scrub the remnants of innocent blood out from under your fingernails, it was never enough, so you went to a roadside bar that was well-known to many hunters, and tried to drown your sorrows. As you sipped your booze, you heard a conversation. _

_A group of road-weary-looking hunters were talking about Dean Winchester. Before, Irv told you Dean’s soul was dragged to Hell, but the way the hunters talked about him that night, it sounded like he was still alive. Somehow, Dean Winchester came back, hung up his salt gun, and turned civi. Some of the hunters seemed like they thought it was good that Dean got out, but some went on about how hunters never really leave the life._

_As you thought about how there was no way you could ever go back to the way it was before your parents were killed, you heard that same group of hunters start to talk about another Winchester: Sam. You heard things about him starting the apocalypse, more whispers about the demon blood, and that when he was alive he could exorcize demons with is mind._

_Before you could hear anything more, some guy everyone called, Rufus, shut the conversation down. “I know you all ain’t talkin’ shit ‘bout Bobby’s boys!”_

_After that, the group of hunters kept their conversation more hush-hush, while you finished your drink and left the bar._

_You tried to make sense of the things that you overheard, but the immense guilt you felt over the loss of the people you were supposed to keep safe, reared back up and kept your brain far too occupied._

_When you met up with Tracy just a few days later, you thought about telling her what you overheard at the bar, but she never wanted to talk about the night that both you and her were made orphans. At that time, she hated Sam Winchester, but after you had to scrub away blood from your hands, blood that was there because you made the wrong choice and people died, something shifted for you. The anger that you felt toward Sam and how his wrong choice was tied into the death of your parents, seemed misplaced. It was then that you realized you were angry at the demon that killed your parents, not Sam._

_Logically, you knew that what you had done wasn’t the same as freeing Lucifer, but just like Bobby said, everyone makes mistakes, and it’s how you make them right that matters. Sam put Lucifer back, putting himself in Hell in the process. Sam and his actions saved the world. Tracy may have still hated him, but as far as you were concerned, you and he were square… and then some._

_A short time later, Irv got a phone call, and you watched shock and surprise spread across his face. He noticed that you saw it, and he cleared his throat. “Got it. And, Bobby? Tell those two boys I say kick it in the ass.”_

_After, Irv explained to you that he didn’t know how, but Bobby told him Sam Winchester was back._

_“You okay?” Irv wondered._

_“’Course I am,” you answered honestly. “They need help?”_

_Standing next to you, Irv wrapped one of his arms around your shoulders gave your arm a fatherly pat, silently telling you how proud he was of you. “Bobby’s got their backs.”_

After you remembered how you got to the motel in Lebanon, Kansas and remembered all the things that Irv taught you, you carefully rewrapped his journal in the old and tattered flannel shirt, tucked it back into your bag, and put it back into the little closet in your motel room. Ignoring all of your packed things and your prior urge to get back on the road, you decided to stay and went to the motel’s front desk to pay Larry for another week.

-

The next day was Wednesday. You woke up bright and early to go to the café, so you could tell Sam that you knew, understood, and didn’t blame him for anything.

However, Sam wasn’t there.

A few days later, your sister, Tracy, called. Knowing that she worked Irv’s last case with Sam and Dean, you almost asked her if she had either of the Winchesters’ phone numbers, but you stopped yourself. You had your laptop and all the programs that you used to find people when you still hunted.

Using those programs, you searched every database you had for Sam Winchester. When that proved fruitless, you looked for Dean, but everything was blocked by someone with the username, _BiteMyAssDick._

“Well, isn’t that colorful?” you murmured to your laptop, but kept looking.

Two hours later, there was still nothing to find.

According to the internet, Sam and Dean Winchester were dead.

“Well, obviously _that’s_ not true,” you grumbled to no one in particular, then closed your laptop.

*//*

The Wednesday after Sam left your motel room, he made himself get up for his morning run and forced himself not to think about you.

It didn’t work.

As he jogged, Sam thought about the day that he met your sister, Tracy, and how she looked at him and spoke to him. It was rage-bordering-on-hate with Tracy, but with you…you looked genuinely shocked.

Sam didn’t blame you – hell, he was shocked too – but there was something else on your face, something else that you were feeling the night that he left your motel room. For the entire week, he, with no success, tried to figure it out, but after he jogged his way back to the bunker and walked down the stairs, the guilt inside of Sam convinced him that the look on your face was horror.

The shocked and horrified look on your face haunted Sam while he showered, got dressed, and it was why he walked past the empty tables in the bunker’s library, jogged right back up the stairs, and got into the Impala.

Once he started to drive, out of habit, Sam drove the car to his usual Wednesday morning café, but when he caught a glimpse of the large picture window in the front of the building, he just couldn’t stop. He thought about turning around and going back to the bunker, but having the windows rolled down and listening to _his_ choice of music was actually soothing for Sam.

Almost three hours later, he found himself parked outside a Starbucks in Wichita.  

Inside, Sam waited in a line for twenty minutes, only to get an Americano with nutmeg that wasn’t half as good as the ones he got on other Wednesday mornings. He took two sips, tossed the paper cup in the trash, and left.

When he walked back into the bunker three hours later, Dean didn’t say a word, but Sam could tell he wanted to.

-

When the second Wednesday passed, Sam was still trying not to think about you and how his past choices had drastically altered your life.

In that weeks’ time, he and Dean wasted a Rugaru, cleaned out a nest of vamps, and did a salt and burn, but nothing took you off of Sam’s mind.

On one of the jobs, he picked at his Gas-n-Sip breakfast and couldn’t help but think about apple cinnamon scones and cinnamon-sprinkled coffee. While he slept in lumpy motel beds, he dreamed about Aydindril and Mother Confessors, and when he stared out the window as Dean drove back to the bunker, Sam thought about the night he walked out of your life the same night that he just started to walk into it.

“Sam,” Dean sighed after watching his brother for fifty _long_ miles.

Without looking away from the window, Sam shook his head. “Don’t.”

“What happened to ______’s parents…it’s not your faul-”

Sam turned up the radio, and that was the end of the conversation.

-

By the time the fourth Wednesday came around, Dean had had enough. Sam didn’t want to talk about what happened at your motel room, even though it was obviously bugging him, and it was driving Dean nuts.

After Sam came back from his morning run, showered away his ‘runner’s high,’ and changed clothes, he sat down at the table across from Dean.

Right away, Dean noticed that Sam had on his jacket and had his laptop bag in his hand. “You goin’ to your hipster hide-a-away?”

“No,” Sam grunted, not entirely sure what he was going to do that morning.

“She’s a hunter; they don’t stay in one place for long. You know that. She’s probably left town by now.” As soon as Dean said the words, he knew it came out wrong. “I didn’t mean she left town because of _you_. I just meant that your hole-in-the-wall coffee joint is probably safe to go back to. Just go; you get broody without your quiet, little nerdy time.”

Not sure if he was doing it to get away from the conversation or if he really did want to go to the café, Sam slung his laptop bag over his shoulder. “I’ll be back later.”

As Sam walked away, Dean called out to him, “Do they have pie there?”

Sam cracked a half-smile. “I’ll check.”

Fifteen minutes later, Dean pulled his phone out of the pocket of his gray bathrobe and made a call to the only motel in Lebanon, Kansas.

*//*

Exactly a month after Sam left your motel room, you were fast asleep in your bed when you were woken up by the old rotary phone ringing like a fog horn on your end table.

Swearing under your breath, you flung your arm over, took the phone off the receiver and brought it under the blankets to your ear. “I didn’t ask for a damn wake-up call, Marissa!” you yelled at who you assumed was the lady who worked the front desk at the motel.

“Well, good morning to you too, sweetheart,” a deep, male voice chuckled in your ear.

Still half asleep and not recognizing the voice, you demanded, “Who the hell is this?!”

“It’s Dean…. Dean Winchester. I’m, uh…” he stammered, then rolled his eyes at himself. “We met awhile back. I’m Sam’s brother.”

Suddenly wide awake, you sat straight up in bed. “Oh.”

“You got a minute?” Dean asked.

“Uh huh,” you answered as you felt your heart race in your chest.

“Good. So, uh, first off, I just wanna say that I’m sorry about your parents, and I’m sorry about Irv too. He was a good guy, and I’m sorry he’s gone.”

“Thanks,” you murmured softly, not really knowing what else to say.

“And second of all, I know what most other hunters think about us, about Sam and about what he did. He’d never make excuses for any of it, but I’ll say that what those other hunters need to know is Sam’s been out there every damn day, and he’s been tryin’ to save people and gank as many monsters as he can. I’ll tell you the same thing I told your sister: you wanna be pissed off at Sam, that’s fine. I get it, but, ______, you gotta know who the real monsters are in this world, and Sam…he’s not one of them.”

“I know,” you answered softly, wishing that you were telling Sam and not Dean.

“Wait. _What_?”

“ _I know_ ,” you repeated yourself.

“But…” Dean knew he was entering a situation that could blow up like a damn landmine in his face, so he chose his words carefully. “If you knew that, then why did you ask Sam to leave? If-if you don’t mind me asking.”

“I didn’t ask Sam to leave. I didn’t stop him, but I didn’t _ask_ him to leave.”

“Okay…. But then why--”

“Pardon me for being in a slight state of shock,” you interrupted, suddenly feeling defensive. “I slept with a guy who I later find out is the same guy that a demon mentioned _by name_ when it killed my parents, that same guy who coincidentally was there when one of the most important people in my life was killed, and then his dick brother interrogated me about it.”

“Yeah. Okay. You win that one.”

“ _Yeah_ ,” you mocked Dean. “I know I do.”

“I’m sorry about the interrogation. Really, I am. Sammy…uh…he doesn’t have the greatest luck in the girl depart- Never mind. Forget I said that. Okay?”

You found yourself actually smiling at Dean’s over-protective-big-brother routine, but let it go like he asked. “I just figured out who you guys were, and I just froze. I wasn’t expecting-”

“You weren’t expecting the random dude you brought home to not be so random.”

“Pretty much.”

“I guess that makes sense.” Stuck between wanting to know more and not wanting you to flip out on him like he probably deserved, Dean was careful when he asked, “So, uh, can I ask you something?”

You smirked to yourself when you could hear Dean’s obvious discomfort. “Sure.”

“So, you said that you didn’t _ask_ Sam to leave. Did you _want_ him to leave?”

“Then? Yes.”

“Oh.”

“But, now, I just want to tell him….  I haven’t blamed him for anything in a very long time. Could you…. Uh…. Could you tell him that for me?”

“I could be wrong here, but I’d be willing to bet some coin that Sammy’d rather hear that from you than me.”

After looking at your alarm clock and seeing how early in the morning it was, you sighed, “You do realize that it’s far too early in the morning for _anyone_ to be that insightful, right?”

“Ain’t that the truth,” Dean answered around a yawn. When he heard your quiet chuckle through the phone, he decided to ask another question, “So, a whole month’s gone by. I figure you had your own crap to deal with, but if you wanted him to know all that, why didn’t you just call him up?”

“I don’t have his number,” you answered simply and honestly.

Chucking, Dean told you, “You’re a hunter; you should know how to track people down.”

“Funny thing,” you replied, “I _do_ know how to track people down, but every database I checked said that Sam and Dean Winchester were dead. Obviously, _that’s not true_ , so I figured the two of you are off-grid.”

After giving the high ceilings of the bunker a quick once-over, Dean answered, “Something like that.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence that both you and Dean felt, but you broke first. “You asked me a question, so now I get to ask you one.”

“Fair’s fair.”

“Would it be crazy-girl-desperate if I asked if Sam was there with you?”

“No.” Dean laughed.

“ _No_ , it’s not crazy-girl-desperate, or _no_ , he’s not there?”

“Both. It’s Wednesday. You know where he is.”

“Oh.” After reasoning with yourself that since Dean didn’t give you shit for asking about Sam, you could safely ask Dean another question. “Can I ask another non-crazy-girl-desperate question?”

Dean snickered. “Sure.”

“ _Hypothetically_ , if I were to get up and go to said café, would he even want to see me?”

“Well, judgin’ by the amount of rainy windows Sammy’s been lookin’ out these past couple weeks, and I’m just hypothesizing here, but I’d say ‘yes’.”

“Oh,” you murmured, feeling a fresh wave of guilt over how things ended up between you and Sam.

Sensing your guilt through the phone, Dean shifted in his chair during the silence. “I’m sure my opinion doesn’t mean crap to you, but I think you should go.”

“You do?”

“Yeah, but just be warned, if you end up bein’ a monster, I _will_ have to kill you,” Dean teased, already knowing you were one hundred percent human.

“Duly noted,” you teased back. “Thanks for this, by the way. Not for calling so damn early,” you laughed, “but just for…you know.”

“Anytime, but before you go, can you not tell Sammy I played Love Connection with the two of you?”

After laughing again, you realized that you hadn’t laughed in weeks. “Mum’s the word.”

“See ya later, Cinnamon Girl.”

*//*

Just a short while after leaving the bunker, Sam parked the Impala on the street in front of his usual Wednesday morning café. He blew out a breath, wiped his hands on his jeans, grabbed his laptop bag, and got out of the car. As he walked up to the door of the café, he stole a quick glance through the windows and saw a handful of people inside – none of them were you. He let out a sigh that was part relief and part disappointment, but he walked inside the café and to the counter.

The familiar black-framed-glasses-barista took his order of a triple shot Americano with nutmeg – triple shot because he was tired and hadn’t been sleeping well over the past few weeks – and he ignored the quick questioning glance she gave him when he didn’t order cinnamon. He paid for his coffee and Dean’s pie and took them over to his once-usual booth.

With his coffee steaming in front of him, Dean’s pie tucked into a box next to him, Sam pulled out his book, _Wizard’s First Rule_ , and forced himself to get lost in its pages. After reading a handful of chapters that he couldn’t recall a single detail from, except for a particularly juicy scene involving Kahlan, Richard, and an apple, a familiar voice made its way to Sam’s ears.

“Seems like they’ll just let anybody in here, doesn’t it?”

Slowly, Sam looked up from the pages of his book to see you standing at the same chair you sat at over a month before.

“_____, hey, uh, hi…” He shifted in his chair uncomfortably as his guilt worked double-time to eat away at him.

“Hi,” you answered back with a smile, trying not to look as nervous as you felt and reminding yourself that Dean said Sam wanted to see you. “I stopped by because your br- I mean, I saw the Impala parked out front when I was walking by, and I just wanted to tell you that…. Well, I don’t know what _you thought_ that day was, but I thought that maybe--  I mean, I know it didn’t end very well,” you rubbed your forehead and thought you were being ridiculously inarticulate. “I just wanted to say that I’m sorry for letting you think--”

 “You don’t need to apologize; I get it,” Sam interrupted you, trying to be sympathetic to your obvious nervousness. “ _I’m_ the one that should be apologizing.”

Sure, you knew that Sam’s apology was going to come, and while you wanted to tell him that you accepted it, but didn’t think it wasn’t necessary, you felt your eyes prickle with tears. Not wanting Sam and the entire café to see you cry, before he could say anything else, you very softly said, “I’d rather not…. Not here.”

Understanding, Sam nodded his head. “Sure. I really didn’t mean-”

“I know,” you gently answered and looked down at the tabletop, willing the tears in your eyes to dry.

You hid it well, but Sam could tell that you were upset; it hurt him more than he anticipated it would. “Do you want to sit down?”

You did. You really did want to sit down and apologize to Sam and talk with him, but you knew that if you did, the tears that refused to dry in your eyes, would fall down your cheeks. You shook your head and whispered hoarsely, “I need to go.”

And just like that you walked away from Sam’s table and out of the café.

Through the glass windows, Sam watched you jog down the block, but unlike the first time he watched you leave the café, you didn’t look back.

With a heavy sigh and a nagging feeling of guilt in his gut, Sam gathered up his things and shoved them in his laptop bag. Holding Dean’s boxed pie in his hand, he put his bag over his shoulder. After he somberly walked to the Impala, he drove back to the bunker.

-

“You weren’t gone very long,” Dean stated the obvious when Sam got back to the bunker.

“Here’s your pie.” Sam put the box in front of Dean.

Like a kid on Christmas morning, Dean opened the box. “Pecan? Aww, Sammy, you shouldn’t have,” he joked.

“That thing was twenty-two bucks. You friggin’ owe me.”

Dean took his first bite and groaned, “Worth every damn penny,” then tossed a wad of cash on the table. “So, how was _your_ _morning_?” he asked in a teasing tone, which made Sam instantly know his brother wasn’t asking about anything except if he’d seen you.

“Fine,” Sam gritted through his teeth.

“That bad, huh? You didn’t _bump_ into anyone _familiar_?”

Sam sighed. “Yeah; _____ was there. She came up and… _talked_ to me for a second, but then left right away.”

“She talked to you? What’d she say?”

“She tried to apologize, but _I’m_ the one who should be apologizing to her. _I’m_ the one who let --”

“Sam,” Dean interrupted. “You _thought_ you were doin’ the right thing back in those days; you had good intentions. Sure, some hunters think they know that whole story, but only the ones who know the _entire_ story are the ones who know you never meant to get anyone hurt. You _thought_ killing Lilith was going to _stop_ _her_ from breaking the final seal. There’s _no way_ you could have known otherwise, and if you did, there’s no question, you wouldn’t have done it.”

“That’s not the whole story, Dean, and you know it.”

“Yeah, well….”

“ _Yeah_ , _well_ , nothing. It doesn’t change the fact that her parents are dead because of me.”

“Her parents are dead because of a _demon_ , Sammy; not _you_ , and obviously _____ knows that, or she wouldn't have come up to you today.”

“I don’t wanna talk about it.”

“Fine.”

“ _Fine_.” Sam got up and walked away from the table.

After taking another bite of his still-warm pie, Dean sighed, and tossed his fork in the pie box, annoyed that he couldn’t enjoy his pie when he knew you wanted to see Sam, and that Sam wanted to see you. So, he got up from the table and made his way to Sam’s bedroom. The door was open, and Sam was reading a book, leaning against his desk.

“So, what’d she say?”

Sam rolled his eyes, annoyed with his brother for bringing you up again. “ _Nothing_ ; she came up to me, said ‘hi,’ and tried to apologize. I cut her off and told her _I_ was the one that should have apologized, and then she said she didn’t want to _go there,_ but she thought…maybe….”

Even though Dean already knew what you thought, he asked, “ _Maybe_ , what?”

“She said she didn’t know what I thought _that day was_ , and then I think she started to say _what she thought it was_. Then, she said she knew it didn’t end very well, and then she apologized.”

It was Dean’s turn to roll his eyes. “Did she look happy to see you? Did you go up to her, or did she go up to you?”

“______ came up to me, and she…I don’t know… She was nervous and upset, and I know she has every reason to be upset, but--”

“Was she like ‘you scruffy-looking nerf herder’ upset? Or ‘my dad is Darth Vader; hold me’ upset?”

Sam bitch-faced at Dean. “What the f-”

“Calm down. I know what you mean.” Dean chuckled. “So, then what-”

“Jesus, Dean! Do you want me to recap the whole two and a half minutes? What are you? A fourteen-year-old-girl?”

“Shaddup. I’m just saying that if she never wanted to see you again after she figured out _whatever the hell_ she figured out, she wouldn’t have come up to you today. _That’s_ _all_. And, personally, _I think_ , you should just talk to her…get shit straight.”

“Dean….”

Sam didn’t have to say what he was thinking; Dean just knew. Dean knew that as big and freakishly tall as his brother was, every time someone threw the whole Ruby/Lilith/Lucifer situation in Sam’s face, it broke a part of him. And since Dean was confident that you weren’t going to throw _anything_ in Sam’s face, he said, “She tried to find you, but since we’re off-grid, she came up empty-handed.”

“How the hell do _you_ know that?”

Toeing at an imaginary crack in the floor, Dean slowly admitted, “I called her.”

“You _what_? When?”

“This morning, after you left. And before you even say it, I didn’t do it to go all Chuck Woolery; I just wanted her to know the whole story. But, Sammy, she already knew.”

“Knew what?”

“Knew it wasn’t your fault. Her parents. She doesn’t blame you for any of it.” When Sam just rolled his eyes, Dean added, “Look, I’m sure you know this girl inside and out, but the only things I know about this girl are she knows her Zeppelin, she’s got a thing for Sasquatches, and she was partnered up with Irv. If Irv trusted her to have his back, she’s gotta be one of the good ones. So, just talk to her. I know in that giant brain of yours, you probably think you don’t deserve it, but _she_ _does_.”

-

After Dean walked out of Sam’s bedroom, Sam just sat on the top of his desk and stared.

Contrary to what Dean said, Sam didn’t know you ‘inside and out.’ There were a handful of _physical_ things that he knew about you, but not the things Dean was referring to. Sam knew your first name, with simple math he deduced that you’d probably been hunting for about four years, and most of that time was hunting with Irv. Sam knew about your parents, your sister, Tracy Bell, that you liked _The Sword of Truth_ series, and that you noticed patterns.

That was about it.

As he sat and ran every piece of information through his mind over and over again, the clock on his bedside table ticked away the minutes and hours.

It was well past midnight when Sam jogged up the metal stairs and out of the bunker.

-

As he cursed the loudness of the Impala’s engine, Sam parked in front of the number nine room, and for a minute, just stared at your door. He could see that the light was still on in your room, and he hoped that meant you were still awake.

After taking a deep breath, he stepped out of the car. Sam tucked his hair behind his ears and blew out a deep breath before he knocked on your door, then he took a step backward and waited.

After a minute passed – that seemed like years – you opened the door.

“Sam,” you breathed his name, shocked to see him. “Oh. Um…hi.”

Sam shoved his hands into his pockets. “Hi.”

During the awkward silence, Sam looked at his boots, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw you fidget with the deadbolt. Just when he opened his mouth to say something, you asked, “Do you…uh. Do you want to come in? I just made a pot of tea.”

It was just a twitch on the corner of Sam’s mouth, but for the first time in weeks, he actually smiled. “Tea sounds great.”

 


	5. More Than Words

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A month after you learned that Sam-from-the-cafe was _Sam Winchester_ , Dean called you and encouraged you go back to your usual Wednesday morning hangout and talk with Sam. You did, but your emotions got the best of you and forced you to leave. 
> 
> Throughout the rest of the day and well into the evening, Sam ran every single detail over in his head, trying to understand why you would even _want_ to talk to him, considering who he was and how he was at the very least connected to your parents' murders. However, like he did with you, Dean encouraged Sam to go to you and try to talk one more time, so, he did. 
> 
> Once Sam got to your motel room, the very idea of talking about something that was painful for him and you in very different ways, but equally devastating, was something that neither you nor he could bring yourselves to do.
> 
> So, you didn’t.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A special thanks goes out to ladyataralasse for helping me get my shit together (and keep it together) with this chapter. She's so good at it, it's almost eerie. lol  
> And another thanks goes to theoriginalpossemagnet for listening to all my woes with life and with this fic. You're so fucking fab.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Ignoring the world and the events of the day, you were curled up on the lumpy couch in your motel room, blissfully lost in one of your favorite books. Just as you took a sip of your tea, there was a soft knock on your door. Assuming that it was either Marissa or Larry, you took your time finishing the paragraph you were on, carefully slipped your bookmark between the pages, and put your book and cup of tea on the coffee table before answering the door.

However, when you opened the door, you were immediately bombarded with the fact that it was most definitely _not_ Larry or Marissa standing there.

“Sam,” you breathed his name, shocked to see him. “Oh. Um…. Hi.”

After shoving his hands into his pockets, he answered a small, “Hi.”

Sure, after you had left the café and made your way back to your motel room, you thought about how you would react if Sam did show up at your door and what you might have said to him. Then, hours had gone by, the morning turned into afternoon and then evening and then well into the night, and you dismissed the thoughts all together and thought perhaps it was for the best. There were things that you knew about Sam that had to have been painful and difficult for him to think about, let alone have thrown in his face with you just being who you were. Not only that, but it was difficult for you have the horrific memories of the night that your parents were killed right out in the open for you and even Sam to see.

And like he could see everything that was on your mind, Sam stood outside your door with his hands in his pockets, shoulders curved inward, like he was trying to make himself small, trying to guard himself and protect you from him all at the same time. As you looked at him and his sad eyes, all your reservations, hesitations, and concerns flew out the window with all the things you thought you might say to him if you found yourself in that exact moment.

As you desperately tried to recapture some of those thoughts, you fidgeted with the deadbolt lock for a few moments. When nothing came to mind, you quietly asked, “Do you…uh. Do you want to come in? I just made a pot of tea.”

Knowing that the invitation was out there, you held your breath while you waited for Sam’s response. Thankfully, he didn’t make you wait long. There was the tiniest hint of a relieved smile on his face, and he told you, “Tea sounds great.”

After you opened the door wider, giving Sam room to walk through the threshold, he took a careful step inside your motel room and then another when you reached around his shoulder to close the door and flip the deadbolt.

It didn’t make sense and was probably the most emotionally unhealthy thing to do, but once the audible sound of the deadbolt sliding into place echoed in your quiet motel room, at the exact same time, you and Sam fiercely closed the small gap between his body and yours and kissed.

Sam didn’t plan for it to happen, and you didn’t even _think_ to expect it, but the second that your lips touched his, both he and you couldn’t think of a different way the night could have gone. The very idea of actually talking about something that was painful for him and you in very different ways, but equally devastating, was something that neither you nor Sam could bring yourselves to do.

So, you didn’t.

Ignoring the cruel twist of fate and focusing only on the connection, the intrigue, and the pull that you and Sam had _before_ was inexplicably simple; neither he nor you understood it.

When Sam reached down, took your hips in his hands, and lifted you up, to him, you weren’t the girl who, just hours before, was visibly and heartbreakingly upset over the death of your parents, whose murders may or may not have been caused by him. Instead, you were the girl in the café that he couldn’t stop watching or thinking about. You were the girl he dreamed about, _fantasized_ about; the girl who Sam knew so little about, but wanted to learn everything. You were the girl who caught his eye and captivated him, and when he kissed you and held you in his arms, that’s all he could see.

And for you, when you wrapped your legs around Sam’s waist and threaded your fingers through his hair to deepen the kiss, Sam wasn’t _Sam Winchester_. He was just _Sam_ , the plaid-wearing, Americano guy that you met at the café. He was the guy who touched you in ways that you only felt in your wildest imagination. He was the guy who was a little mysterious and intriguing in all the right ways, and when Sam laid you down on your bed, those were the only things that mattered.

Unlike the first time you and Sam found yourselves tangled together, no words were exchanged and there weren’t any thoughts shared. Instead, something that had been felt just once, something that guilt and grief masked every day for an entire month for both you and Sam, rose to the surface. It was a closeness and connection neither of you ever let yourselves think about over that month, and when the two of you felt it again, everything else faded away.

After Sam shrugged off his jacket and pulled his shirts up over his head, he did the same with your shirt, but when he traced your skin with his fingertips, he used a different type of gentleness with you. The first time his hands roamed over your body, they were slow and soft and barely there, teasing you and making you crave more in ways that you never knew were possible. However, that time, Sam touched you like he was exploring and memorizing, committing every single detail of your soft skin to memory.

When he licked around your nipples and softly sucked them, one at a time, into his mouth, his tongue was soft, warm, and gentle. When he kissed down your stomach and let his teeth catch on your navel, your hips rose off your mattress, your body silently begging for more.

Reading your body language, Sam took the opportunity and wrapped his hands around the waistband of your pants, pulled them and your panties down your hips and legs, then tossed them aside.

Taking your hips back in his hands, Sam resumed his kisses and brought them down between your legs, groaning when he got to taste you again and when he heard you breathe his name. Wanting to hear more of your perfect sounds and loving how his name came from your mouth like it was meant to be there, Sam lapped at your clit, swirled his tongue around it, and gently drew it into his mouth.

The soft motion of his lips earned him exactly what he wanted.

His name was almost constantly falling from your lips. It made his cock twitch and fill in his jeans, but feeling your fingers tangle in his hair, made him push his hips into the mattress below him. In the same rhythm, you rocked your hips up against his face, eager for more of Sam’s tongue, and he wanted nothing more than to give it to you.

Wanting to taste your orgasm on his tongue, hear it in your moans, and feel it in his hands, Sam took one of his hands away from your hips and brought it down between your thighs. You were already so wet for him, but he still took his mouth away from you, sucked his first and second fingers into his mouth, coating them with his saliva and remnants of your arousal. As he swirled his tongue around his knuckles, he looked up at you to see your heavily-lidded eyes focused on his mouth.

With your bottom lip caught between your teeth and your hands twisted in the mussed bedding, you watched Sam suck down his fingers, watched a thin string of saliva connect the tip of his pointer finger and his tongue, stretch, and then break when he brought his hand down to your soaked pussy.

Feeling Sam trace his fingers up your slit, you tried to keep your eyes on his, but when brought them down over your throbbing clit and rubbed them against your opening, your eyes fell closed. You heard him groan, felt the roll of his hips jostle the mattress, then you gasped when he slowly sunk his fingers, one knuckle at a time, inside of you.

More moans fell out from between your lips when you felt Sam’s fingertips slide along your g-spot. Your back arched when he did it once, twice, and then three times, going so slow that you thought you’d go crazy, but still loving every second of it.  

Able to read the look on your face, Sam pressed a soft kiss onto the very tip of your clit, then lightly swiped his tongue over it. He could tell you were close, and every time he made the same flicks of his tongue, your wetness coated his hand.

When he both saw and felt that you were practically vibrating with need, Sam wanted to give you everything. However, he remembered how tight you were the first time, so he carefully changed his two fingers to three.

Slowly working them in and out of you, randomly scissoring his fingers and stretching you, Sam lapped at your clit; slow at first, then more insistent, until you came around his fingers and on his tongue.

Every whimper, moan, and sob from you made Sam’s cock twitch; he ached to feel you wrapped around him again. As you rocked your hips against his face, he moved his against the mattress, trying to ease away some of the need, but when he felt your fingers tangle in his hair and give a tug that was on _that side_ of gentle, Sam knew that there was only one thing that would make the dull throb in his cock subside.

Following the tugs that you gave his hair, Sam kissed his way back up your body and immediately found your mouth. The second that he did, your hands left his hair and instantly started working open his belt.

With a speed that Sam didn’t have time to comprehend, his jeans and boxer-briefs were around his hips and then his knees. Not letting go of your mouth, he kicked them aside, then practically shouted when he felt your hand wrap around his cock.

Just like the first time, you gripped him with a softness that was just shy of enough, but with how much he ached, Sam knew it was _exactly_ what he needed. You twisted your fist when you stroked up his shaft and thumbed around the ridge so perfectly that he actually _felt_ a blurt of pre-come dribble out from the slit.

Without thinking, he reached over to your bedside table, opened the top drawer, and felt around for the box of condoms that were there the month before. It took him a second to find them, another to get the foil package ripped open, and one more to get the condom rolled down over his cock.

Once you watched Sam put the condom in place, you hooked your knees up on his hips and tried to pull him closer to you, but he stopped you. You let him spread your thighs wide with strong but gentle hands, then threw your head back against the pillows when he took himself in his hand and rubbed the head of his cock against your sensitive clit.

Moans spilled from your mouth when he drew soft circles around the swollen patch of skin, then tilted your hips back and eased the first few inches of his cock inside of you. Simultaneous sounds erupted from you and Sam when the stretch and tightness was felt, melting into only heavy breaths when he was fully enveloped by you.

Without moving his hips, Sam leaned down to search for your mouth. When he was greeted with your soft, plush lips, he slowly moved his hips back just enough to thrust right back into you, groaning against your mouth when you met him in the middle.

Little by little, Sam let himself unravel with you. As he moved, he could feel you throb around him, could hear you moans begging him for more, harder, faster. Giving it to you, he grabbed you by your hips, pulled your body flush with his, and sat back on his heels, moving you into every one of his thrusts.

Quicker than he would have liked, Sam felt that coil in his middle tighten. He fought it while moving you over him, but then your moans changed into more needy sounds. Sam recognized them instantly and brought one of his hands between his body and yours. With his thumb rubbing against your clit, he relished in those sounds for as long as he could, but when your body seized up around him, your pussy gripping his cock so hard that it took his breath away, he let himself fall apart when you came for the second time, gasping and crying out his name.

After collapsing backward onto a pile of rumpled blankets and clothing, Sam held you close to him, but slid your body up his and let his cock slip free. You and Sam shared a sigh: you at the empty feeling, and him at the absence of the fluttering grip of your inner walls.

Upside down on the bed and on top of Sam, you clung to him while trying to catch your breath. When his hand stroked down your back, you automatically arched up into his touch, and a little hum inside Sam’s chest vibrated against your ear, like he enjoyed your response.

After another couple of passes of his fingertips on your skin, he shifted you to the side, so that he could get rid of the condom. Once he tossed it in the trash, he gathered you in his arms, moved so that the two of you were right side up on the bed, and laid back on the pillows.

When you felt his fingers lightly lift your chin up, you looked at Sam. He kissed you softly and brushed your hair out of your eyes, chuckling quietly when your tangled locks just fell back in your face.

Reaching up, you tucked your messy hair behind your ears, then snuggled back into Sam when he flipped the bedding over your body.

The next while was quiet; Sam’s heartbeat slowed in your ear, and your breaths slowed against his skin. As that happened, mutual reality set in, and all the things that the two of you didn’t think about when Sam first walked into your motel room hung heavy in the air.

Trying to ignore it, you buried your face in the crook of Sam’s neck, while he wrapped his arms around you, like he could shield you from it. But it was no use, and there was no hiding.

“______,” Sam whispered your name, knowing that _eventually_ things needed to be talked about.

“Not yet,” you softly pleaded and hid your face under his jaw, trying to cling to the last seconds of the moment. You knew exactly what Sam was trying to do, and while you knew he was right, you also knew that everything would change once the conversation started.

Earlier in the night, Dean told Sam that you knew your parent’s deaths weren’t his fault. Sam had his own thoughts about that, but what really made him wonder was how you told him that you ‘knew enough’ about him. Surely you couldn’t have known _that much_ , or you would have told him to leave your motel room the second he showed up at your door.

As Sam thought about that, you felt his heart rate pick up again, and you lifted your head up to look at him. “So, I have a small confession to make.”

Feeling his heart race even faster, Sam swallowed, but forced his voice to sound normal. “Hmm?”

“I didn’t go in the café because I saw the Impala parked out front. Your brother called me.”

Sam breathed a sigh of relief that he knew would be short-lived. “I know. He told me.”

“Did he tell you what we talked about?”

“A little.”

“Is that why you came here?”

After nodding his head, Sam realized how you could have easily taken his response the wrong way. “But I didn’t come here for…. I wasn’t _expecting_ ….”

“Me either,” you agreed, understanding what he meant. During the hours between the time you left the café and when Sam knocked on your door, you did briefly consider – AKA: hope – that he might show up, but like him, you never expected to sleep with him. Not that you regretted it, you just didn’t think to consider it a likely scenario.

“Do you want me to go?” Sam asked and braced himself for your response.

“No,” you answered honestly. “Do _you_ want to go?”

“I don’t know that this is about what _I_ want, but about what I _should_ do.” As soon as he said the words, Sam watched you move away from him and start to look for your clothes. He was slightly confused by it, but the hurt on your face was unmistakable.

Taking a chance, Sam made himself more vulnerable than he’d been in a long time. He leaned forward, gently grabbed your arm, so you’d stop what you were doing and look at him. When you did, he admitted, “Tonight was amazing, and the first time was… _indescribable_. If this were about what _I_ want, we wouldn’t stop. I’d ask you out to dinner, or do any of the other things that normal people do when they want to get to know someone else, but I can’t-”

“Because I know,” you finished Sam’s sentence with what you thought he was going to say next. “Because I know what you did…all of it.”

When Sam’s brain processed what you said, he let go of your arm and froze. You _did_ know. He could see it on your face. Once he found his voice, he quietly asked, “ _All of it_?”

“Well, I didn’t hear it from _you_ ,” you started gently, “So chances are I don’t know every _single_ detail. But I do know…um…quite a bit, and I imagine that is probably pretty difficult for you.”

“ _What_? Why would it be difficult _for me_?”

“Because some of the things I know about you probably aren’t things that you like to…talk about.”

“Jesus,” Sam breathed, then realized that he was naked – in more ways than one.

Like there was a mutually unspoken pause in conversation, both you and Sam quietly dressed. Once your clothes were on and his layers shielded him like plaid and canvas armor, he watched you walk over toward the couch, then start to clear away the books and blankets that you must have been using before he came to your motel room.

“Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to go?” Sam asked, still astounded that you could manage to even be in the same room as him.

Taking a deep breath, you folded up the last blanket, tossed it over the back of the couch, then looked up at Sam. “This time, I’m _asking_ you to stay.”

Doing what you asked, Sam sat on the opposite side of the couch as you. There was a thick and awkward silence between him and you where Sam wondered how you could think any of that awkwardness was because you knew whatever it was that you knew about him. What Sam felt was because _of him_. He knew the things that he had done; he knew how your life had been altered by _his_ choices. What he _didn’t_ know was how you were keeping so calm about it.

For a few moments, you watched Sam. He sat on the furthest end of the couch, resting his elbows on his thighs, hunched over, while staring at his clasped hands. He stayed that way for a minute, then looked at you. “Can I ask you something?”

“Sure,” you answered, thankful that Sam spoke first. There were dozens of things that you wanted to say to him, but you had no idea where to start.

“Dean told me that that when you two talked this morning, he was ready to tell you… _everything_ , but he didn’t have to, because you told him you already knew…about me. Then, I didn’t quite get _how_ you could know, but, now, I guess it makes sense. I mean, if our places were switched, I’d probably try to find out everything I could about you.”

“It’s not like I have a Sam Winchester dossier, or I spent the last four years trying to find out every single detail about you. I just had questions. Irv answered them as best he could, and with the ones he couldn’t answer, he helped me find people who could.”

“No offense to Irv,” Sam started very carefully, not wanting to offend Irv or his memory, “but I don’t know that most hunters are the most reliable sources.”

“I think Bobby would be considered _the_ reliable source.”

Shocked and a little hurt that _Bobby_ was your source, Sam felt his mouth fall open. “Bobby’s the one who-”

“No.” You shook your head. Knowing that Bobby was once a trusted friend and father-figure for Sam, you clarified, “Irv told Bobby the things that the demon said, and-”

“And Bobby told you which parts were true and which weren’t,” Sam sighed when he fully understood. Bobby just wanted you to know the truth, and while it was difficult for Sam, he knew that because of what you went through, you deserved it.

“He also told me that all hunters make mistakes. He told me that one day I would too, but it was about how you made things right that mattered. Bobby told me that you let Lucifer out, but you put him back too. I didn’t completely understand what that meant until Irv told me… _how_ you did it.” You almost started to go on about how you would probably _never_ understand the things that Sam went through while he was in Hell, but when you watched his whole body tense up, you only added a very quiet, “Thanks for saving the world.”

It was quiet in your motel for a few minutes, and you could tell that everything – your gratitude included – made Sam uncomfortable. Before you could take a second to admire his humbleness, you watched him take a breath, and then he abruptly stood up from the couch.

“That’s your take-away?!” he asked, not caring that his voice was bordering on angry. “I put Lucifer back, and everything is just fine?! _Clearly_ , you _don’t_ know the whole story.”

“I may not know every single detail, I’ll give you that, but I know what I know. I’m not going to ask you to fill in the blanks; that’s not why I tried to find you _or_ why I went to the café this morning.”

“Then, why did you?! Because I’ve been going over it in my mind all day, and I can’t figure out _why_ you would even want to be anywhere _near_ me. Your sister sure as hell didn’t.”

Emotions were running wild, and you let the fact that Sam was practically yelling at you go, but when he dragged Tracy into the conversation, you couldn’t let it slide. “Okay, first of all,” you snapped, “do you and Dean think the _exact_ same way about every single thing?”

“Definitely not.” Sam sighed, disappointed with himself for lashing out and bringing your sister into the conversation. He sat back down on the couch next to you. “I’m sorry I said that,” he apologized with a kind tone and eyes. “I didn’t mean it.”

You nodded your head, silently accepting Sam’s apology. Like him, you softened your voice when you said, “For the record, Tracy actually said some nice things about you after that day in Oregon. She might not be starting a fan club in your honor, but she doesn’t….” You searched for the right word to accurately and politely describe your sister’s once-feelings toward Sam.

“Hate me?” he offered.

“Hate is a very strong word.”

“But an accurate one.”

“Either way.” You shrugged. “The things you did and said that day, changed the way she thinks about you.”

You and Sam shared a couple of small smiles, and then everything went back to a quiet and almost awkward silence.

Breaking that silence, you answered Sam’s earlier question, “I went to the café this morning, because I wanted to tell you that I’m sorry for reacting the way I did. I know you made mistakes, but what happened to my parents isn’t on you.” Just like in the café earlier that morning, when you spoke about your mom and dad, tears started to fill your eyes again. You took a breath, blinked them back, and continued, “They were killed by a demon that did what demons do best.”

As Sam watched your eyes shine with tears just like the ones he noticed at the café, he realized that you weren’t upset because _of him_ ; you were simply a girl who was still grieving the loss of her parents. 

Seeing you like that, seeing you trying to be strong when time clearly hadn’t eased all your pain, affected Sam in a way that he still didn’t understand. He hardly knew you, really didn’t know you at all, yet there was still a part of him that felt protective of you and hated to see you upset.

The logical side of Sam tried to tell him that it was just human decency; that what he was feeling was just one person recognizing and sympathizing with another person’s pain. But another part of Sam knew it was something else entirely. He was convinced that it wasn’t possible for you and he to _ever_ go back to how it was before you realized who he was, but there was still the undeniable fact that you knew who he was and what he had done _before_ he ever set foot in your motel room that night. Yet, you still kissed him, let him kiss you, and you’d slept with him. Underneath everything, there was still the same connection that he felt with you and, obviously, you with him.

Very slowly, so that you could stop him if you wanted to, he slid across the couch and rested his hand on your shoulder. When you leaned into his touch, he wrapped his arm around your back.

Not looking for more of the absolution that you’d given him – and that he still wasn’t sure he deserved – but only wanting to acknowledge your loss, he quietly told you, “I’m sorry about your parents.”

Truly touched by the obvious sincerity in Sam’s words, you looked up at him and smiled in spite the tears that filled your eyes. “Thank you.” 

After that, it was quiet for a long time. Sam rubbed your back until he saw that your unfallen tears had dried, and then he sat with his arm wrapped around you, smiling to himself when you curled up at his side.

It was after midnight when Sam got to your motel room, and as he sat with you, he saw the sun start to peak through your window, and he realized it was morning. He hadn’t felt his phone go off in his pocket, so that meant that Dean wasn’t awake yet, but Sam knew he couldn’t sit with you on the couch forever.

Like you knew it too, you uncurled yourself and started to move away from him. Sam let you go and watched you stand up in front of him.

For a long minute, Sam sat still and watched you look at him like you were trying to see something and find an answer to what he was sure was one of the many questions you probably had, then asked, “Did you mean it before when you said that what we did was amazing and indescribable?”

Sam only got a chance to nod his head, and then you asked, “And you meant it when you said that if it were up to you, you’d take me out on a date or something else that normal people do when they want to get to know someone?” After nodding his head again, you asked one more question, “So, if it’s not up to you, is it up to me?”

“Yes, but how can you-”

“I could explain it to you, but I don’t think-” Sam watched you sigh, close your eyes, open them back up, and look at him like you had made a final decision. “I knew who you were a month ago. I knew what you did, about Lilith, Lucifer, and…that demon girl. I’ve heard some hunters talk about you like you were a monster, and I’ve heard other hunters talk about you like they were proud to know you and proud to call you family, and I can clearly see who was right. But, you’re also right; I _don’t_ know the whole story, but I know what applies to me. I know that you blame yourself, but I don’t. I also know that I could probably tell you that until I’m out of breath, but you still won’t believe me, so I want to show you.”

Sam was floored. He suspected that you did know all that you claimed to know. Because why would you lie? But to hear it all in ten sentences or less?

“I get that you’ve only had a month to deal with this and really just minutes to understand that I do know. I’ve had years, so if you need time, then, _please_ , take it. I _really_ want to you to. Or even if you just can’t, I understand, and the door is right there. If you want to leave, I won’t think any less-”

“I don’t want to leave,” Sam interrupted you after realizing a very simple fact: if he left, he wouldn’t see you.

A relieved smile graced your lips, and you took Sam’s hand. “Then, let me show you.”

He let you lead him to the bathroom, watched you turn on the shower faucets, adjust the water, then close the shower curtain.

You turned back toward him, and after a minute of really looking at him, you reached up and ran your hands over collar of his jacket.

Trying to understand what you were showing him, Sam stood still when you started to pull his jacket off his arms and let it drop to the floor. He remained still as you slowly worked open every one of his buttons on his shirt, pulled the bottom of it out of his jeans, and took it off him. After you pulled away the rest of his shirts, you carefully worked open his belt and jeans, the weight of the things in his pockets dragging the denim down his legs.

Before you reached for the waistband of his boxer-briefs, you looked up at him, like you were silently asking for his permission. Sam gave it to you with a small nod and noticed that you never took your eyes away from his while you slid them down his hips.

When Sam was naked, he slowly reached for your clothes and undressed you in the same slow and gentle way as you. Then, you took his hand again and led him into the shower.

The water was warm on his skin and made his hair cling to his forehead and fall in front of his eyes. You reached up, tucked it behind his ears, and it was like, for the first time, Sam could see you.

He watched you take a bar of soap in your hands, wash his arms, his shoulders, and bring the bubbles down his chest and stomach. A quiet groan slipped from his lips when he felt your fingertips just barely touch his cock, but when he looked down to see your hand washing his thigh and hip, he saw a trail of white bubbles flow down his leg, his foot, and then go down the drain.

It was then that Sam got it.

The warm water, the soap, your hands: it felt like a baptism, like an act of forgiveness. To show Sam how you felt, you used a kindness and patience and gentleness that he had once known, but time had almost made foreign to him.

It may have been sweat and the day and a little bit of you that you were washing away from Sam’s body, but it was like you were trying to wash away all the guilt and shame that clung to him.

Sam let you, and in that moment, even though you didn’t say a word, he knew exactly what you were saying.

He understood, and oddly enough, he knew, no matter what happened, he always would.


	6. Crimson and Clover

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Now I don't hardly know her_   
>  _But I think I could love her._   
>  _Crimson and Clover._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always, thank you to ladyataralasse for being all the awesome descriptive words that I just can't think of right now. You're the best.
> 
> and theoriginalpossemagnet... That gif from yesterday? I now have Chuck Berry in my head. Thanks...for _everything_.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Leading Sam into the shower had been impulsive and could have so easily backfired, yet you still did it. You did it because when you looked at him sitting on your couch, hunched over with guilt and shame so heavy on his shoulders, it broke you a little bit. It was a pain that you couldn’t quite put your finger on, but it affected you in a way that you couldn’t have anticipated.

You meant it when you told Sam you understood if he needed time to sort through his feelings about the cruel twist of fate between him and you. After all, you had years to come to terms with what he had done, while Sam only had moments to comprehend that you knew his darkest secrets.

You meant it when you told him to take the time. You meant it when you said you really wanted him to take it if he needed it, because even in the small while that you spent with Sam, you knew you wanted him. You knew you wanted to know him and spend time with him, but above all that, you knew if Sam didn’t fully understand that you didn’t blame him for the death of your parents, there was no way you and he could even start to begin.

When that very simple truth made itself clear to you, you _needed_ Sam to understand you, but you just knew that no matter what you said, no matter how many times you told him you didn’t blame him, the very obvious guilt and shame that he carried wouldn’t allow him to hear you.

So, you did the only thing you could: you showed him.

Once you guided Sam into the bathroom, he let you undress him, and as you did it, you could practically feel the hesitancy radiate from him and see his guard go up stronger than Kevlar. You didn’t try to take it down, instead, you worked around it slow and gentle and soft, showing him all the things he couldn’t hear.

With a simple bar of white soap, you created a lather and tried to wash away some of the guilt and shame that seemed to weigh heavily on Sam’s shoulders. You didn’t think it should have been there, not for your parents, but to Sam, it was evident that he thought his skin was deservedly branded with it.

Still needing him to understand you, you continued to wash him, careful of all those layers of Kevlar. Each pass of your hands over his skin was you trying to show him that the brand was not deserved, wordlessly repeating over and over that it didn’t belong there.

There was a moment where you realized that Sam was just _letting_ you show him, _letting_ you silently say your peace. Not giving up, you gently walked him backward, further under the spray from the shower head. When the water pushed his hair in front of his eyes, you reached up and tucked it behind his ears, and the second you did, the look on Sam’s face changed.

He looked at you, your hands, the soap, and the running water. You watched him look at the bubbles trailing down his body and circling the drain like they were never there, and you just knew that Sam understood what you were wordlessly trying to tell him.

Your message was simple: you didn’t blame him for what happened to your parents. Their deaths were not on him; they were not his cross to bear.  

After Sam heard your words that were never spoken, there was never a moment where he wasn’t touching you. When he gently cupped your cheek, you kissed the palm of his hand. When he ran his fingers through your water-tangled hair, you stepped closer to him, humming softly when he traced the round curves of your shoulders, down to the slope of your waist, then threaded his fingers with yours.

Holding your hands in his, Sam backed you up against the shower wall and just stared at you like he was trying to figure you out, like you were some sort of anomaly that just couldn’t exist.

With the same patience that Sam gave you, you let him look, let him figure out whatever he needed to.

Unfortunately, other than a few secondhand details, you didn’t know Sam. Bobby Singer never told you how emotions would fly through Sam’s eyes before you even had a chance to name them. Rufus Turner never let slip that Sam could look at you without saying a word and rouse a dozen questions that you couldn’t find the words to ask. And Irv Franklin never explained to you how Sam could answer those questions unequivocally with a light brush of his lips.

It was that original intrigue, that pull, and that inexplicable connection you and Sam seemed to have. It felt elaborately simple and effortlessly intricate in ways that neither you nor Sam could comprehend, but it felt honest. It felt real in a way that time and deprivation made Sam crave, and loneliness and self-imposed solitude made you starved for.

Barely moving away from you, Sam reached behind himself and shut off the rapidly-cooling water from the shower. When he lifted you up and stepped out of the shower, a surprised giggle slipped out of your mouth. Sam drank it down with a kiss just as your feet touched the cold bathroom floor.

Drying off and getting dressed was mutually done: Sam wrapped a towel around the backs of your shoulders, while you used a second towel to squeeze the excess water out of his hair. When you and he were dry, you did up the buttons on his shirt, and he straightened your bra straps, both of you reluctant to put anything between the places where your bodies touched.

Once the two of you were fully-clothed, you led the way out the bathroom with Sam at your back and his arms wrapped around your waist. You ran your fingertips up and down, from his elbows to his wrists, smiling when you felt him nosing at the back of your neck, breathing in lungfuls of your scent.

“Tell me something about yourself,” Sam whispered in your ear, “Anything.”

Looking over your shoulder, you gazed back at him with your face just inches away from his. As you looked at him, you realized that while you had your secondhand details about Sam, there wasn’t much else that you knew about him. In addition to that, it dawned on you that Sam knew next to nothing about you; you were still that anomaly that he was still desperate to figure out.

“Well….” You lifted his wrist and looked at his watch. “I have to be to work in fifteen minutes.” It was the tiniest scrap of a detail about yourself, but the stainless-steel watch wrapped around his wrist didn’t lie.

“You have a job?” Sam asked, and you recognized just a handful of the looks that passed over his features: he was a little surprised, but obviously impressed.

“Yeah,” you answered and let him turn you around, so you were facing him. “I’m not hunting, so I figured playing the credit card game was bad form.”

Sam smiled at you like he appreciated what you were doing, and you couldn’t help but smile back.

“It’s just here at the motel,” you continued. “The owner, Larry, he’s a dick, but he pays me cash to clean the rooms and wash the linens. And sometimes, if there aren’t guests here, he takes laundry orders from a couple businesses in town.”

Sam hummed while nodding his head, obviously digesting the simple detail about you. Then, he was quiet.

Once again, you couldn’t decipher the looks that crept onto his face, and before you could ask, there was a knock at your door.

Sighing, because you knew it was Larry, you untangled yourself from Sam’s hands and opened the door.

Sure enough, there was Larry, standing there with his greasy comb-over and an even greasier grin on his face.

“Miss Amnell,” he tried to purr smoothly, “It’s time for my favorite girl--” Larry stopped when he saw Sam standing behind you. You watched his eyes flick back and forth between Sam and you, noticing that Sam’s lips were just as red and swollen as yours and that both of you were fresh from the shower. When Larry looked beyond Sam and saw that your bedding was mussed, very obviously _not_ from sleep, he frowned and spat, “Don’t be late for work.”

“I’ve still got ten minutes,” you sighed, annoyed and a little embarrassed.

“Your shift starts when I say it does, Miss Amnell,” Larry muttered, looking you directly in the eyes. He leered just long enough to make your skin crawl, then flicked his eyes over to Sam’s and gave him a cocky grin. “And I say it starts _now._ ”

Even with your back to Sam, you could practically hear him clench his jaw in anger, but because you could handle asshole-Larry and were used to verbally sparring with him, you rolled your eyes, leaned against the open doorframe, and crossed your arms over your chest. “Wow,” you sighed dramatically, “Someone’s grouchy today. Couldn’t get it up for the hooker last night, huh?”

“Oh, honey,” Larry drawled, unable to hold back another greasy smile. “You really shouldn’t talk about things your pretty little head can’t comprehend.”

“I’m pretty sure I can comprehend what’s _little_ just fine,” you sassed back, giving Larry a smirk.

Laughing, Larry looked at Sam. “She’s a pistol, ain’t she?”

You admired Sam’s restraint when he only clenched his jaw even harder, then you looked back at Larry. “See you in ten minutes,” you told him, then closed the door and locked it.

After you turned around to face Sam again, you leaned back against the door. “So, that’s my boss.”

Sam exhaled a ragged breath, unclenched his fists, and relaxed his shoulders. “You weren’t lying when you said he was a dick.”

Laughing through a sigh, you answered, “I most definitely was _not_.”

“He always like that?”

“Not usually, but then again, Marissa usually gets after him.” You peaked out the window to look for her car, but her usual parking space was empty. “Must just be you,” you teased with a smile.

Not quite returning your smile, Sam curled in his shoulders like he was trying to make himself small. “Is that going to be a problem?”

Reaching your hand forward, you grabbed a gentle handful of Sam’s jacket and gave it a little tug until he moved closer to you. “I have ten minutes before I have to go to work.” You stepped up on your tiptoes and smiled against Sam’s lips. “And I don’t want to talk about Larry.”

Mirroring your smile, he asked, “What do you want to talk about?”

“Tell me something about yourself,” you whispered and brushed your lips against Sam’s. “Anything.”

“I want to see you again.” He softly kissed you, his lips gentle and just barely eager. “Preferably sooner rather than later. Have dinner with me Friday night.”

“If we can have dinner in the morning, then yes.” When Sam gave you a confused look, you clarified, “I work nights on Fridays, but I’m free in the morning.”

Sam’s smile came back. He pulled you closer to him, humming when you wrapped your arms around his neck. “Pick you up at eight?”

You kissed Sam’s smile. “Perfect.”

After a couple minutes’ worth of slow and easy kisses, you and Sam exchanged phone numbers and then a few more kisses.

When you had exactly enough time to walk down to the motel’s laundry room, you kissed Sam once more and leaned against the door frame to watch him walk to the Impala.

He smiled and waved at you before pulling out of the parking lot, and after you watched the tail lights disappear around the corner, you practically skipped your way to your shift.

*//*

When Sam got back to the bunker, Dean was still asleep, so Sam made himself a pot of coffee, grabbed his laptop, and sat down at one of the tables. Trying to stick to his usual morning routine, he perused his usual websites, looking for cases. He looked intently for a couple of hours, but when there just wasn’t anything to find, Sam’s mind wandered back to your shower.

Once he understood the unspoken words behind your actions, he couldn’t take his eyes off you or your soap-covered hands.

Your fingers were delicate on his skin, almost like they were writing words of forgiveness and acceptance with white bubbles only to be rinsed away by the water, but never really disappearing. He could still feel them invisible on his skin, branding him in the most beautiful way even after they flowed over his feet and disappeared down the drain.

While you washed him, Sam reached up with his left hand and cupped your cheek, trying to tell you how your simple act of kindness made him feel even though he couldn’t find the words. Like you knew the message he was trying to convey, you leaned into his touch and pressed a small kiss on the inside of his hand.

Sam wanted to return the kiss and give you dozens more just like it, but because he was in complete awe of everything you did, he stayed still. He watched you, admired you, and willed your small kiss to brand his palm the exact way your soap-written words did the miles of his body.

“Sam!” Dean half-shouted and half-laughed, effectively ending Sam’s reverie. “You in there?”

“Uh huh.” Sam cleared his throat and nodded his head. “Yeah. Sure. I’m- Wait, _what_?”

“I said your name four damn times.” Dean chuckled. “But you’re all lost in la-la land with that big, goofy grin on your face.”

“I’m not-” Sam scrubbed his hand over his mouth, halfway trying to hide his smile. “I don’t have-”

“Right you don’t,” Dean teasingly scoffed and stole his brother’s coffee. “So, you gonna spill it? Or am I just gonna have to put it together. I mean with the dopey look on your face and how you smell like some bar of girly, frou-frou soap…I think it’s pretty obvious, but a few details wouldn’t hurt.”

Sam tilted his head down to smell under the collar of his shirt, and sure enough, he could still smell your soap. He tried to hide another smile.

“See!” Dean cuffed his brother on the shoulder. “I friggin’ knew it. Spill.” He smacked Sam’s arm again. “Now.”

Sam bit the inside of his cheek to keep from smiling even wider.

Over the years, he and Dean had always swapped at least a handful of details after one or the other had a night with a girl, but to Sam, you were different. It wasn’t just _a_ night with you; there would be future nights and days with you. But that wasn’t only it. There was the way you looked at him, the way you could not say anything, but Sam still knew what you meant. It made him want to tuck every single detail about you into his pocket and keep it there just for him. On the other hand, Sam was just so damn happy that he could have busted at the seams.

He grinned at the thought and tried to look back down at the news on his laptop, but Dean caught on.

“C’mon, Sammy! I _need_ details. It’s drier than the damn Sahara out there!”

Shamelessly grinning, Sam relished in the fact that Dean was on the other side of the high and dry situation. “That’s unfortunate.”

Dean rolled his eyes. “You’re really not gonna tell me _anything_? C’mon! Let me live vicariously! I don’t have the time or the patience to sit at some crappy café and troll for girls.”

Sam smacked his brother’s shoulder. “That’s _not_ what I did.”

Chuckling to himself, Dean rubbed his arm. “But you two did… _you know_ , right?”

“Yeah.” Sam smiled again. His cheeks were starting to ache from his perma-grin, but that didn’t mean he stopped. “Things didn’t go the way I thought they would- I mean, it was good…like _really_ good, but I didn’t expect to…. I just walked in, and I saw her, and I couldn’t….

“Hold on.” Dean pushed away his coffee and leaned forward in his chair. “So, you just walked into her motel room, and BAM! You two are in bed?”

“Well, I don’t know if there was any bamming going on.”

“Oh, Sammy.” Dean grinned. “You should _always_ bam.”

Smirking, Sam rolled his eyes. “Shut up.”

“So, let me get this straight. _You_ : the king of wanting to talk shit to death, just strolled on into her motel room, didn’t say a word, and carted her off to bed?”

“It wasn’t like that,” Sam insisted, because it wasn’t.

“Then, use your big-boy words, Sammy.”

Sam bitch-faced at his brother.

“Okay, okay,” Dean conceded. “I won’t…say anything. You talk. I’ll listen.”

After sighing heavily, Sam tried to explain, “You said _______ knew stuff about me, but I figured she couldn’t possibly have known it all. And maybe it was an asshole move, but the second I saw her, all I could think about was having to fill in the blanks about how her parents’ murders and I are at the very least connected. And I was sure that once I did, she’d never want to see me again.”

Nodding his head, Dean understood. “So, you wanted just one more night. Hey, I can respect-”

“No,” Sam interrupted. “Well, yeah, but that’s not how…. I mean, it was the same way for her. ______ thought that once she told me all the things that she knows about me, I wouldn’t want to…she said she thought that it might be difficult _for me._ ”

Completely ignoring the fact that Sam confirmed that you and he slept together, Dean asked, “How much we talkin’ here?  I mean, how much can she really know?”

“Her exact words were, ‘I may not know everything, but I know what applies to me.’”

“Well, what the hell does _that_ mean?”

“She didn’t have a checklist or anything, but she specifically said that she knew about Lilith and Lucifer…. I mean, she talked to Bobby.”

Shocked, Dean jumped to Bobby’s defense. “Bobby would _never_ have told her-”

“He didn’t,” Sam assured his brother. “He just told her what was true and what wasn’t. And personally, I’m glad he did. She deserves to know.”

“What else does she know?”

Looking down at the table top, Sam traced a swirl in the grain with his thumb. He took a breath and unconsciously dropped his voice to barely a whisper, “She knows about Ruby.”

Dean gave Sam a how-the-fuck look.

“Well, she said she knew about ‘that demon-girl,’ but it was how she said it. Trust me, she knows.”

Very carefully, Dean asked, “And she’s… _okay_ with it?”

“Well, I don’t know if she’s _okay with it_.” Sam shrugged and felt remnants of the invisible, soap-written words you left on his skin. “But she didn’t run, screaming in the opposite direction as me. She….” Letting his words trail off, he tried to find a way to verbally describe how you told him the way you felt. “She…just… She just _knows_ , but she still wants to see me again. We’re having breakfast tomorrow.”

A little surprised, Dean asked, “Breakfast? On a Friday?”

Sam sighed, relieved that Dean let the subject of how much you knew, drop. He knew there was just no way he could explain it so that Dean would understand, but it didn’t matter, because Sam understood. “Yeah. Breakfast on a Friday. Why?”

“I’m not sure that breakfast on Friday- _a date night_ is necessarily a good sign.”

Sam rolled his eyes. “It’s not like that; she works that night.”

Dean was surprised in a different way. “This girl has a job where she works the nightshift? What the hell does she do? Work in a friggin’-”

Not even wanting to hear where his brother was going to guess you worked, Sam interrupted, “She works at the motel; cleans the rooms and does laundry.”

“So, she’s a maid," Dean teased. “She wear a uniform? You know the black ones with the frilly aprons?”

Chuckling and shaking his head at how his brother could put the plot of any porn flick into a real-life situation, Sam stood up from the table. “I’m going to sleep for a few hours.”

“Details!” Dean called out to his brother as he watched him start to walk out of the room. “C’mon! Housekeeping’s a perfectly respectable job! I didn’t mean it!”

Ignoring his brother, Sam walked down to his bedroom and collapsed onto his bed. His cheeks still ached from smiling, but he fell asleep in seconds.

He couldn’t wait for breakfast.

-

“Sammy. Wake up.”

Startled, Sam sat straight up on his bed and looked around his dark bedroom until he found the Dean-shaped figure standing in his doorway. “What time is it?”

“Just about six thirty.”

Silently cursing the lack of natural light in bedroom corridor of the bunker, Sam rubbed his eyes. “AM or PM?”

Dean chuckled. “PM.”

“Ugh,” Sam groaned and fell back on his bed, but smiled when he realized that twelve hours later, he’d be getting up to shower before he picked you up for breakfast.

“So, your girl-”

“She’s not _my_ girl,” Sam clarified after a yawn.

“Suuure she’s not,” Dean teased. “Anyway, did she work this morning? Is that why you came home at the ass crack of dawn?”

Groaning, because he knew he wasn’t going to get to go back to sleep, Sam sat up on his bed again. “Yeah. Why?”

“You’re kind of a dumbass. You know that, right?”

Trying to get his eyes to focus, Sam squinted at Dean’s silhouette. “What?”

“She worked this morning, so that means she’s off work tonight, and if you and she have an _Early_ _Bird_ _Special_ breakfast date, I’m assuming she doesn’t work tomorrow morning. Right?”

Sighing, Sam answered, “That’s what she said.”

“I figured.”

“Dean, what’s your point?”

“I didn’t find a case for us, and you’re here, _sleeping_.”

“What am I _supposed_ to be doing?”

“Not sittin’ here, wasting friggin’ time, that’s for damn sure.” Dean flipped on Sam’s bedroom light. “You’re free as a bird, _tonight_ , Sammy. No monsters to gank, _tonight,_  and no long ass stretches of highway with our name on it, _tonight_.”

Sam squinted at the brightness. “I told you, ______ and I have plans for _tomorrow_ morning.”

“And if we find a case before then?”

After thinking for a second, Sam realized the situation that Dean was proposing could actually in fact happen. Quickly, he dug his phone out of his pocket and saw a text from you earlier in the day.

**[Kahlan Amnell 4:08PM] This morning was great. Can’t wait for breakfast. :)**

When Dean saw Sam give his phone the same dopey smile that he saw earlier in the day, he couldn’t help but chuckle. “She text you?”

Only nodding his head, Sam sent you a text.

 **[Jim Page 6:22PM] Yeah it was. Are you done with work?** ****  
**[Kahlan Amnell 6:23PM] Almost.** ****  
**[Jim Page 6:23PM] Sorry for not answering your text earlier. Just woke up. You’re still working? It’s been over twelve hours.** ****  
**[Kahlan Amnell 6:23PM] Mmmm. Sleep. I miss sleep, but totally worth it. ;)** ****  
**[Jim Page 6:24PM] Agreed, but still very good to know.** ****  
**[Kahlan Amnell 6:24PM] Gotta go. Linen emergency.** ****  
**[Kahlan Amnell 6:25PM] Yes, that’s a real thing. LOL** ****  
**[Jim Page 6:25PM] I did not know that. Good luck.** ****  
**[Kahlan Amnell 6:25PM] Thanks. :)** **  
** **[Jim Page 6:26PM] If you want to, call me when you’re done.**

After Sam stopped grinning at his phone, Dean asked, “So…?”

When you didn’t answer his text, Sam put his phone back in his pocket. “She’s still working.”

“Then, that gives you enough time to pick up some food, maybe a bottle…or _two_ of wine.”

Anxious and torn between wanting to keep his plans with you, but unable to honestly tell himself that seeing you twice in the same day would be a bad thing, Sam looked at the clock on his bedside table. “She hasn’t even slept yet today….”

Grinning, Dean told Sam, “Then, you go to her room and give her The Winchester Turndown Service.”

Sam rolled his eyes and ran his hands over his rumpled shirt. “I’ve been wearing these clothes for-”

Dean laughed. “Step two of The Winchester Turndown Service requires your clothes to be on the floor.”

“No.” Sam shook his head. “That’s not what I want. It’s not just sex. I want-”

“Yeah; I know,” Dean told his brother, and he did know. “You want to do _normal_ things with her. Show her your puppy dog eyes and listen when she tells you all about herself and keep the plans you make with her, and that’s all good and fine, but those are the things that _normal_ _people_ do. Normal people who can stick to a schedule and don’t have damn demons and monsters messin’ up every plan we’ve ever made. I’m sorry, Sammy, but you’re not normal. You don’t know where you’re gonna be in a day or so, but right now? _Right_ _now_ , you’re free as a bird and so is she. Take advantage of it. Seize the moment. Be impulsive.”

-

An hour later, Sam had on clean clothes. He picked up a pizza from the bar on the other side of town and bought a bottle of wine from the liquor store down the street.

Standing outside your motel room, he took a breath, hoping that Dean was right. Sam hoped being impulsive was the right choice.

He knocked on your door.

A few seconds flew by, but you didn’t answer.

After checking his phone, Sam saw that weren’t any text messages from you, but out of the corner of his eye, he saw there was a small woman looking up at him. Right away, Sam noticed her nametag said, _Marissa,_  and he remembered that you mentioned her that morning. With suspicious eyes, she looked him up and down, then smirked at the bottle of wine.

The next thing Sam knew, the tiny, little woman was whisking him off into the motel’s office.

There were mismatched chairs with cracked leather seats around the edge of the room, yellowed wallpaper covered the walls, and a clock to Sam’s right told him that it was ten minutes earlier than what it was, but through the scuffed plastic window on a door labelled, _Laundry_ , Sam saw you.

You were standing at a table, folding an enormous white sheet with earbuds in your ears. Whatever you were listening to, you mouthed along to the words and did this little head-bob that made Sam smile.

Seeing you made him happy, made him excited to find out what would happen next, and just seeing you, even on the other side of the building, erased all of Sam’s hesitation. He just _knew_ that being impulsive was the right idea. You were a hunter; you knew what it was like to have something come up out of nowhere and what it was like to make the most of the time given to you.

The thought made Sam’s smile grow even wider, and as Marissa sat down behind the office desk, she chuckled. “Miss Amnell will be done soon.”

Sam knew Marissa was laughing at him, but he didn’t care. From his place in the lobby, he watched you grab a tall stack of white sheets and put them on a shelf, then come back for another stack, only to repeat the same action over and over again.

As Sam realized that you were putting your things away because you were done with your work, he felt anticipation grow in his stomach, and then his stomach dropped.

“What the hell is _he_ doing here?!” Larry barked after he stepped directly between Sam and his view of you.

Not looking up from the papers in front of her, and using a bored tone that Sam noticed she didn’t use with him, Marissa explained, “He’s waiting for Miss Amnell.”

“Well, she’s not done,” Larry snapped and gave Sam a glare that would have turned a lesser man’s blood cold.  

“Hence the term _waiting,_  Larry,” Marissa sighed, looking up only when Larry stomped out of the motel office. “Don’t mind him,” she told Sam, her bored voice gone, “He’s like that to everyone.” Marissa paused for a second, looked at Sam, looked back at you through the small window in the laundry room door, and then smiled, like she knew a secret that Sam wasn’t in on. “But something tells me that you won’t ever get used to him.”

“No?” Sam asked, curious.

“Nope.” Marissa shook her head and went back to her paperwork. “My guess is that he’s going to drive you nuts every single day, but that girl’ll make it completely worth it.”

Sam looked back at you and watched you put away another stack of sheets. Smiling, he knew Marissa was right, but before he could tell her, his phone started to ring in his pocket.

Sam laughed. It was you.

“Hey,” he greeted you, thankful you couldn’t see the ridiculously happy grin on his face. “How’s your night going?”

“Good,” you answered. “Tired. A little sore. Lots of folding today, but I’m starving. How many hours until breakfast?”

Sam chuckled and continued to watch you through the little window in the door.. “Look up,” he told you, both eager and nervous to see your reaction. You looked up, but your line of sight wasn’t at the door. “Now, turn left.”

“What are you doing?” you wondered, and Sam could see that you hadn’t moved.

“Humor me.” Sam laughed softly. “Turn left.”

He watched you do what he asked, and when you saw him through the little window in the door, you smiled, wide-eyed and pleasantly shocked. “You’re actually here, _and_ you brought me pizza and wine?”

“Yeah,” Sam answered, still talking to you on the phone. Feeling a little silly, he shifted awkwardly from foot to foot, but couldn’t make himself take his eyes away from yours. “I should have called. I just- I know we made plans for breakfast in the morning, but I got to thinking about what I’d do if a case came up and I couldn’t make breakfast, so I-” Sam stopped when he saw that you were smiling one of the cutest smiles he’d ever seen. “What?”

“Nothing.” You laughed in the phone.

“So, uh….” He raised the pizza box, so you could see it better. “You said you were hungry?”

“What about breakfast?”

“We can still do breakfast in the morning,” Sam assured you.

-

Two minutes later, Sam was following you into your motel room. The pizza box and the bottle of wine were carelessly left on your kitchenette counter, so that Sam could wrap his arms around you.

Smiles and kisses were shared as you led him past the table and chairs and then the couch. When you and he were standing at the end of your bed, he kissed you once more, then whispered, “Not that I’m saying ‘no’….” Sam groaned when you nipped at his bottom lip. “But this-this _isn’t_ why I came here.”

Gasping dramatically, like what Sam had said was the most brazenly salacious thing you’d ever heard, you kissed Sam ever-so softly, then demurely told him, “I’m sure I haven’t any idea what you’re talking about.”

When you couldn’t keep your straight face, Sam laughed, “Uh huh,” and tried to kiss you again, but you ducked away.

With a playful twinkle in your eye, you told him, “You said _that_ wasn’t why you came here, so just let me get some plates for the pizza and some glasses for the wine…. Though, _maybe_ we should skip the wine,” you obviously teased, “If I have more than a couple glasses, I get-”

Sam interrupted you with his mouth, telling you in kiss-broken sentences, “I meant- that wasn’t the _only_ reason- I came here.”

“I know,” you answered back, matching him kiss for kiss.

Sam meant to ask, _You do?_ , but it just came out in a questioning hum.

“Mmm hmm,” you affirmed, but offered nothing else.

Suddenly, all the hesitation and uncertainty that Sam felt before came flooding back. What if you didn’t feel the same as him? What if he let himself feel things for you, and you didn’t reciprocate? How could he put himself out there for a person who knew his darkest secrets?

Instead of remembering the way you touched him in the shower and how you bathed him with kindness, acceptance, and maybe even a little devotion, Sam felt all his self-doubt take over.

“Tell me,” he begged quietly and rested his forehead against yours. “Please. I need to hear you say it.”

Very slowly, you looked up at Sam. He watched you swallow before you softly admitted, “I know very, _very_ little about you, and while _this_ is great, I’d like to know more.”

Sam sighed in relief, put his forehead back on yours, and closed his eyes.

“It’s the same for you. Right, Sam?”

“Yes,” he murmured, repeating it more times that he probably needed, but every time he answered your question, he interrupted himself by kissing you.

Each kiss was meant to be celebratory; meant to be a substitute for a vocal, _I like you and you like me._ It was jubilant and passionate, at times slow and soft, and at other times, neither you nor Sam could get enough of each other’s mouths.

Sam wished that he could talk and kiss at the same time, wished he could watch your expressions and taste them simultaneously. He couldn’t, so when there was a lull and you and he were tangled, fully-clothed together on your bed, Sam ran the pad of his thumb over your flushed and swollen bottom lip. As he memorized how your eyes fluttered closed when you tried to catch your breath and how your tongue came out to lick his thumbprint away, he quietly asked, “So, it’s okay that I just stopped by?”

“Yeah.” You kissed the pad of Sam’s thumb and propped yourself up on your elbow next to him. “The pizza and wine, though now probably both cold and warm, are great. _This_ is great. Thank you. I could totally get used to this.”

“Mmm. Me too,” Sam hummed against your lips, feeling hopeful, comfortable, and desired all at the same time. It was something he hadn’t felt in so long, and he clung to both it and you.

Bringing his kisses down your jaw and neck, he nuzzled just under your ear. “Tell me something about yourself,” he whispered, “Anything.”

 


	7. Everlong

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _And I wonder, if I sing along with you, if everything could ever feel this real forever?_   
>  _If anything could ever be this good again?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ _Everlong_ by Foo Fighters](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=eBG7P-K-r1Y)
> 
>  
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> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Bringing his kisses down your jaw and neck, Sam nuzzled just under your ear. “Tell me something about yourself,” he whispered, “Anything.”

With each of Sam’s words, you could feel his breath warm on your skin and the soft brush of his lips. Every time you murmured even the smallest detail about yourself, Sam’s lips skated further down your neck, to the collar of your shirt.

When he tugged open your top button with his teeth, you laughed softly. “I thought you said _that_ wasn’t why you came here?”

After Sam used his mouth to pull open your second button, he told you with a grin on his face, “I believe I said that wasn’t the _only reason_ I came here.”

“Oo-ohh. Silly me.” you teased, barely pretending that you believed him. “As you were.”

Chucking, Sam kissed at your freshly-bared skin, but waited to pop open your next button until you started talking again.

You figured out very quickly that the more you told Sam about yourself, the more buttons he opened and the more pieces of your clothing he took away. You knew it wasn’t incentive or a reward, but more like every detail that you revealed about yourself made Sam feel connected to you. It was like he wanted to taste that connection.

You wanted to taste it too, so before Sam could remove your last article of clothing, you brushed his hands away from your panties and rolled him over, so you were straddling his hips.

Appreciating his new view, Sam slid his hands up your naked waist and hummed low when you situated yourself on top of him, “And what’s this?”

You leaned forward and kissed your way up the buttons on his shirt until you reached his mouth. Lightly letting your lips brush against his, you whispered, “My turn.”

Sam knew it was coming; he knew you wanted to know about him just as much as he you. He also knew that it was only fair. He did spend the last hour devouring every single detail you offered up to him.

In that time, Sam learned your birthday, favorite book, movie, food, some of the places that you’d visited over the years, a little about your family, all the way up to the name of the boy who broke your heart in middle school. While learning all about that, he also discovered that there was this tiny patch of skin just below your collarbone where if he dragged his teeth over it, the prettiest sounds would come out of your mouth. But even though he learned all those things and so much more, he could have spent the rest of the night listening to you talk about yourself.

However, Sam knew it was only fair that he reciprocated. So, he took a deep breath and tried to push away the fears and anxiety that he had about sharing things about himself with you.

You hadn’t spent much time with Sam, but in the time that you had, you started to learn what the looks on his face meant. He had a habit of trying to make himself small when he felt uncomfortable, and you noticed that his forehead crinkled when he was considering something.

As you watched Sam in that moment, you saw him do both of those things. Laying down, so that you could tuck your face under his jaw, you gently told him, “You don’t have to if you don’t want to.”

“It’s not that I don’t _want to_ ,” Sam told you with a sigh as he ran his fingertips up and down your back. “It’s just…there’s some stuff that you might not….” Frustrated with himself, he sighed again. “There are some things that you might not be okay with. A lot of it isn’t very… _pretty_.”

From the few things that you knew about Sam and his past, you assumed and expected that there would be a certain amount of baggage that came along with him. Because you could empathize with Sam and because your past was also speckled with things that weighed heavily on your heart, you gently offered, “If you wanted, there’s always the _there is no before_ way of doing things.”

“No,” Sam quickly answered. “That’s not what I want. I don’t want secrets, and I don’t want you to find out six months down the road that I did something three years ago that you can’t deal with.”

Grateful of his need for honesty, you nodded your head. “I don’t want that either.” When Sam seemed comforted by your response, you added, “But we don’t have to talk about that kind of stuff tonight, do we?”

“No,” he agreed with a relieved smile. “I guess we don’t.”

“Good.” You kissed your way back up to Sam’s mouth, but before your lips touched his, you whispered, “I’ll only ask you what you asked me.” He nodded his head, so you asked, “When’s your birthday?”

“May second,” Sam answered softly and willingly tilted his head to the side when you started to kiss down his neck.

“See? That wasn’t so hard,” you teased and kissed across his collar bone. “Tell me something else. Whatever you want.”

Much like you, Sam started with his favorite book.

He laughed when you opened his top shirt button with your teeth.

-

The next day, you and Sam slept through the breakfast date that you and he had planned, and just when the two of you started to talk about a lunch date instead, he got a call from Dean and had to go.

As you watched Sam walk out your door, you knew that he was leaving because he had to, but that didn’t mean there wasn’t a part of you that wished he didn’t have to go. However, an hour later, you got a text:

**[Jim Page 12:08AM] Dean and I are headed to Hayes, VA. See you when I get back?  
[Kahlan Amnell 12:08AM] Can’t wait. :)**

*//*

Over the next couple of months, Sam tried to balance you with hunting and life at the bunker. When he and Dean got a break between cases, Sam would spend a couple nights with you and the rest in his own bed. He knew that you had your job, and in one of the talks that he had with you, you told him you helped your sister out with cases via the phones or with research, but Sam still felt a little guilty. He wanted to spend as much time with you as he could.

When Sam slipped how he was feeling into one of the conversations that you and he had – where he asked you question after question and devoured every detail that you offered up – you assured him that you understood. He was relieved, but it was still odd that he didn’t have to lie or come up with excuses for why he couldn’t be with you as often as he’d like. Sam had never had anything like that before, but then again, spending time with you and being with you was also something he had never experienced either.  

When Dean figured out that Sam was _trying_ to balance his time with you, he laughed. Sam tried to explain, but Dean said that if he had a girl to keep him warm at night, he would definitely _not_ be sleeping alone.

After Sam got the approval that he didn’t even know he needed, it took him all of two minutes to grab his jacket and sprint up the bunker’s stairs for the door.

When he got to your motel room, you answered the door with adorable sleep-hair and bleary eyes. As soon as Sam saw you, he realized how late it was and that he showed up, once again, without calling. When he tried to apologize, you smiled, grabbed the front of his jacket, and lightly tugged until he walked into your room.

Sam missed you. He honestly went to your motel room just to see you, but then you wrapped your arms around his neck and stepped up on your tiptoes to kiss him. Sam still missed you, but he realized he missed something else too.

You took off his jacket and tugged away his shirts, while he lifted your sleep shirt – which happened to be one of his undershirts that he must have left behind – up over your head. When the rest of his and your clothes were gone, Sam laid you down on your bed.

As he held you, Sam realized you were the opposite of everything else in his life. Your lips were so smooth against his. Your body was soft and warm underneath him, and the skin covering your pulse was delicate against his mouth.

Wanting to feel more of you in his hands and against his skin, Sam kissed until he found that tiny spot just under your collar bone with his mouth. He gave it a gentle suck and groaned when you whispered his name and wrapped your arms around his waist, grabbing handfuls of his ass to pull him closer to you.

When he switched to the other side of your collarbone and dragged his teeth over your soft skin, you practically mewled his name. Just testing, Sam gently nipped at the spot, barely there at first, then harder the second time. He felt your fingernails dig into his skin, pulling him even closer to you, and that time the needy sound came from Sam’s mouth when he felt the underside of his full and heavy cock slide along the soaked line of your pussy.

You felt it too, felt the solid heat of Sam’s shaft press against your clit and move along side of it. Wanting more, wanting that heat to stretch and fill you tight, you stole one of your hands away from Sam’s ass and reached over to the drawer in your end table for a condom.

As you did, under your fingertips, you felt the cool metal of the set of nipple clamps that you kept in the drawer. For a second, you almost left them there to go back to your search for a condom, but you paused and looked up at Sam.

It was in the middle of the night and fairly dark in your motel room, but Sam didn’t miss the look on your face. He wasn’t sure what it meant, so he kissed his way back up to your mouth and whispered, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you quickly assured him. You knew that since Sam looked in that drawer the first day that he came to your motel room, he knew about the set of nipple clamps, but the two of you never discussed using anything in that drawer other than the condoms. “Never mind.” You pushed them to the side and grabbed a condom out of the box.

Thinking that maybe the box of condoms was empty, and he was going to have to haul ass across the alley to the Gas-n-Sip with the front of his jeans uncomfortably tight, Sam softly told you, “Tell me.”

A second later, when he saw you take a pair of nipple clamps and a condom out of the drawer, he realized he wasn’t going anywhere.

After pushing himself up onto his knees, Sam took the clamps and condom out of your hand. After setting the foil packet to the side, he asked, “You wanna use these?”

Suddenly feeling a little embarrassed, you nibbled on your bottom lip. Just barely nodding your head, you whispered a soft, “Yeah…I mean, if you want-”

Sam cut you off with a kiss and groaned back, “Baby, you can have _whatever_ you want.”  

After he kissed the breathy smile on your lips, Sam put the clamps down on your stomach and took your breasts in his hands. He reached down and licked a flat line up and over your left nipple, coming back down with the very tip of his tongue, swirling around the peak. When he felt you squirm under him, he licked up again, that time coming back down with the edges of his teeth, then sucking your nipple into his mouth.

Wanting to gauge your reaction, Sam looked up at you and saw you watching him. He locked his eyes with yours and sucked a little bit harder, using his tongue to flick the very tip of your nipple.

Your hips rose up off the bed when Sam kept the suction tight and pulled his mouth off of your breast, and when he started to roll the slick and sensitive skin between his fingers, you arched your chest up in to his hand.

When he moved his mouth over to your right nipple and kept gently pulling and plucking at the other one, you couldn’t help but rock your hips. The first time you did, Sam used one hand to push them back down into the mattress, took both his hands and his mouth away from your body, and quickly rolled the condom down over himself.

After he was done, he leaned back down, taking your breasts back in his hands, and resting the underside of his cock against your pussy. He went back to sucking, licking, plucking, and gently twisting, groaning loudly when you rubbed yourself on him.

Sam could have licked his way back and forth between your breasts for hours, but he could tell you were more than ready. Just to be sure, he asked. You said that you were, so Sam carefully put the first clamp on your nipple. He was expecting a small moan or maybe a soft whimper from you, but when he let go and let the small clamp rest on your skin, your whole body rocked up into him as you gasped and grabbed onto the pillow under your head.

Instantly, he wondered in a gravelly tone, “Too tight?”

“No.” You shook your head and clenched your core, wishing like hell there was something to clench onto.

You didn’t realize that you were holding your breath until Sam murmured, “Breathe,” before putting on the second clamp.

You did what you were told and gasped at the light pleasure-pain, continuing to rock your hips up against Sam, rubbing your clit against him.  

Giving you more, he pushed his hips tighter into you and carefully took your breasts back in his hands, just barely rubbing your clamped skin with his thumbs. The wet slide of your slick pussy made Sam’s cock ache, but the sight of your puffy and flushed nipples was something he just couldn’t ignore.

Very slowly, Sam reached down to lick at your swollen nipples, mentally noting how they felt warmer in his mouth. Each time he moved his tongue, your hips rocked up against him, harder and harder.

When you quietly begged, “More,” Sam lightly dragged his teeth over your clamped nipples, then softly sucked them, one at a time, into his mouth just like before. Still watching you as he sucked, Sam noticed that your head was thrown back and your hands were clenching the pillow so tightly in your fists.

Just to make sure, Sam asked you, “That feel good?”

As your answer, you gasped and quickly nodded your head, so Sam did it again, but a little bit harder. Just as he did, a needy, “ _Shiiit_ ,” fell out of your mouth. “Sam,” you panted, “T-take them off when- oh, fuck! Take them off when I- I’m gonna come.”

Shocked, because he barely even touched you, Sam let you rock your hips against him. He wanted to feel you wrapped around his cock, clenching and squeezing him as you came from practically nothing, but Sam just watched, nearly hypnotized by what was in front of him.

He used his thumbs to lightly roll your nipples, gradually adding more pressure as he moved his hips in time with you. As he did, your moans grew louder, and your legs wrapped tightly around his hips, nearly holding him in place.

After a minute, you made a frustrated, little noise. Sam reached up and kissed it away, murmuring against your lips, “Just come, baby. I got you.”

When Sam slid his body along yours, your ultra-sensitive nipples dragged along his chest. That combined with his low and ragged voice and the perfect pressure of his cock against your clit made everything clench in exactly the right way. Before you could think, your orgasm rocked your whole body, and the pleasure-pain disappeared from your nipples, leaving behind the sweetest ache.

As you came down, Sam’s hands were so tight on your waist, moving your hips for you, and rubbing your pussy against his shaft, making one orgasm roll into another.

Having absolutely no idea it was going to happen, Sam watched you come for the second time, so turned on that it almost hurt. He wanted to hold you and taste you and make you do it all over again all at the same time, but before he could move, you used his hips as leverage and lifted yourself up off the bed and into his arms.

“Please,” you begged against his lips, needing him inside you.

“I will,” Sam groaned, but because you were always so tight around him, he knew he had to loosen you up first. He tried to reach around your hip and slide two fingers inside of you, but the angle was awkward. You must have realized it too, because you released his waist from your legs.

Just as he started to lay you back on the pillows, you rolled over on the bed and pushed yourself up on your knees.

“Fuuuck,” Sam groaned at the sight of your ass in front on him.

He stroked his hands over your skin, grabbed a couple of tight handfuls, then held your hip with one hand and cupped your slick pussy with the other. Your back arched when he slid one finger inside of you, and you clenched around his fingers when he changed one to two.

After a few minutes, you were writhing on the bed and had his hand slick, so he used his soaked fist to lube up the condom. As Sam slowly eased himself inside of you from behind, your body held and molded itself to his in every way possible. He gasped at the tightness, groaned when he heard you sob in pleasure at the stretch, and pulled out just enough to push back inside of you.

Holding your hips in his hands, Sam pulled you into his easy thrusts, slowly increasing the strength behind them. Almost right away, he felt that warm ache in his lower abdomen start to bloom, but wanting to feel you from the inside for as long as he could, he kept his pace slow.

He kissed up your spine, licked and nibbled at your shoulders, gasping when you clenched around him and swiveled your hips back into him. Unable to help himself, Sam’s slow thrusts became quicker and quicker which made your moans grow louder and louder.

Once he found the perfect rhythm and pace, you turned your head to the side and looked back at him with the perfect ‘O’ shape on your lips. As soon as Sam saw it, he _had_ to have it.

He pulled you to him, so that your back was pressed into his chest and immediately covered your mouth with his. You pleaded against his lips, begged him for more, harder, faster, and keeping his promise that you could have whatever you wanted, Sam gave it to you. He held you tight, fucked you exactly the way both he and you wanted it. Sam had dreamed and fantasized of that exact moment, as had you, and just seconds later, he was shouting, you were practically screaming, both of you coming so hard that it was difficult to breathe. 

After you and he collapsed on the bed tangled together, sweaty and trembling, Sam held you in his arms as the two of you caught your breath. He peppered your whole body with kisses, while you stroked his sweaty hair.

A little while passed, and Sam felt your fingers still in his hair, then your hand went limp on his head. He looked up at you, saw that you had fallen asleep, and gave you a soft kiss. You returned it a sleepy smile, moved closer to him, and nestled yourself against his chest. It took you just another minute to fall back to sleep, but Sam wasn’t tired. He continued to hold you, rubbing your soft skin with his hands.

As he laid there with you, something dawned on him. Sam realized that night was the first night you and he had slept together, and he didn’t have a desperation or an urgency to see and feel and memorize everything about you all at once. He wasn’t scared that there wasn’t going to be a _next time_. You were simple going to be there. You _wanted_ to be there, and so did he.

That made Sam feel safe and reassured, and for the first time, he wanted to tell you more about himself.

*//*

It didn’t take you and Sam very long to find a routine. Eventually, Sam took you out for the breakfast date that he promised you; it was a great first date.

After that first breakfast date, when he could, Sam would stay a couple nights during the week with you.

Then, sometimes, weeks would go by where he barely had time to do anything more than text you good night, but you knew how back-to-back cases worked. Of course, that didn’t mean that you didn’t miss him like crazy. Sometimes, it shocked you how much you really did miss him, so after the third time he showed up at your motel room in the middle of night, you gave him a key.

You loved when he would show up in the middle of the day and whisk you away from Larry and the never-ending piles of laundry. And it was always a pleasant surprise when he’d let himself into your motel room in the middle of the night and climb into bed with you. Some nights he would just sleep next to you, wrapped around you like he was trying to touch every single part of you all at once. Other nights, he would wake you up with urgent kisses that always ended with you coming so hard you almost blacked out, but there were some nights where Sam would lay next to in bed, stroking his fingertips up and down your back, while asking you question after question about yourself.

None of his questions were ever invasive. You answered them with as much detail as you could, silently hoping that Sam would tell you his own personal version of the answer. Sometimes he did, and sometimes he didn’t.

And then, one day, out of the blue, he told you _everything_.

You and Sam were sitting on your couch together just talking about something completely random when his expression changed. “I need you to promise me something.”

A little confused, you nodded your head and answered, “Sure.”

“Please, don’t ever lie to me,” Sam blurted with a desperation that you weren’t expecting. “You can tell me anything, even if it’s something you think I won’t like. Just _please_ , don’t ever lie to me.”

Puzzled both by his request and the painful expression on his face, you couldn’t help but just look at Sam. Why would you lie? Why would Sam feel the need to ask you not to? What could have possibly happened to him in his past that made him so desperate for your promise?

After seeing that it was painfully clear that Sam needed your promise more than you needed answers to your silent questions, you did what he asked. “I promise.”

You watched Sam hang his head and sigh in relief, then he took your hands in his. “I’m sure you know with the kind of life I live, there will be things that I can’t tell you.” When you nodded your head, Sam continued, “But when it comes to you and me, I swear, I will _always_ tell you the truth.” Then, he took a breath, made a face like he made a final decision, and just started to tell you his story.

You could tell that he was giving you the abridged version of his life for time’s sake, but it was like he had rehearsed what he was going to say for weeks, like he planned and prepared exactly what he was going to tell you.

After a little while of clear and concise thoughts, things started to come out in a mess of jumbled, run-on sentences. Those half-finished thoughts were sometimes filled with such sorrow, loss, and heartache that you struggled to keep your own emotions in check just so you could pay attention.

Because of your past need to understand the circumstances that preceded your parents’ murders, some of the things that Sam told you were familiar, but he added more. It was dark just like you always knew it would be, but also filled with so much anguish-riddled remorse that even with all the training Irv gave you, it was difficult to rein in your emotions.

Either your skills were better than you thought, or Sam had a focus and determination that you couldn’t comprehend. He continued on, telling you about his life where the scales between good things and horrific ones never seemed to be even.

There was a particularly painful part toward the end of Sam’s confession – among many others in both the beginning and the middle – that helped you understand his need for honesty. As he told you how he nearly died and how his brother and an angel named, Gadreel, used a less-than-honest tactic to stop that from happening, you silently vowed to yourself that you would never break Sam’s promise.

Just a little while later, he finished, and you watched him look at his hands and try to steady his breathing.

With stories of fate and choice, Heaven and Hell, and even Purgatory, swarming in your mind along with all the things Sam had so painfully ripped from him, you had no idea what to say. What _could_ _you_ _say_? How could you begin to find the words to even touch a story like Sam’s?

Overwhelmed, you looked at him, watched him stare at his hands, and then met his eyes when he looked over at you.

You watched Sam’s features soften, then very slowly, he hesitantly reached over to touch your cheek and wiped away tears that you didn’t even know where there. Then, he whispered hoarsely, “And then I met you.”

Sensing and seeing that hesitancy, you instantly leaned into Sam’s touch, showing him that in spite his confessions, everything was the same. Sure, his story was a lot to take in; it was his entire life – a _hunter’s life_ – condensed into a single sitting, but even with the things that Sam confessed to you, the way you felt about him hadn’t changed.

However, the thing that _did change_ , was that original intrigue, the pull, and the inexplicable connection that you had with Sam. That was gone. What you felt for him, in that moment, was a _very_ _explicable_ connection, one created through honesty and a promise of continued honesty.

-

Ever since Sam found himself in the shower with you, watching you wash his body with that white bar of soap, he’d gone back and forth with himself about how honest he should be with you. He wondered how much you could handle – how much _he_ could handle – how much you wanted to know, and how much he could tell you before you really would run off, screaming in the opposite direction as him. But then, Sam realized that he still felt the sting of the lies that were recently told to him and the lasting pain of pertinent facts omitted, and he knew he had to go all in.

So, he did, and very much like how he confessed in that church, Sam began at the beginning and ended at the end, telling you about his life.

When he was done, Sam paused, both to give him a chance to pull himself together and to give you time to absorb and ask questions about things he divulged to you. It shocked him when you remained completely silent, so he looked up at you.

Your cheeks were a little pale and there were tears streaming down them. Instantly, Sam reached up to wipe them away, but just before he touched your skin, there was a second where he thought, maybe after everything he told you, you wouldn’t want him to touch you.

When you leaned into Sam’s hand, he heard himself breathe a very audible sigh of relief. Truly overwhelmed by the fact that you _didn’t_ pull away from him, Sam’s first instinct was to pull you into his arms and never let you go, but then you did something that he never expected you to do.

Moving slowly but purposefully, you rested one of your hands on his shoulder and the other on his opposite cheek. After looking him in the eyes, you sat up on your knees, kissed him on the forehead, then the lips, and pulled him into a tight hug.

Your kind and tender embrace made tears prick at Sam’s eyes. A feeling of acceptance and comfort that he’d never felt before washed over him, and when you gently cradled his head in your arms and rested it in your lap, a silent and unexpected sob slipped out of Sam’s mouth.

He laid there with his head in your lap and felt you card your fingers through his hair as you rested your cheek on his shoulder. He felt the light kisses that you gave him there, heard the quiet shushing sounds you made when more of those quiet sobs shook his shoulders, and understood your silent words, even though you never said them.

It always shocked Sam how well you could convey your thoughts to him without making a sound. You did it when you bathed him in the shower, and it was no different when you held him that day on your couch.

Every time he felt your fingernails lightly scratch his scalp as you combed your fingers through his hair, Sam knew you were silently reassuring him and wordlessly telling him that you accepted him for who he was. The entire concept was foreign to Sam, making it difficult for him to truly relax at first. Like you knew it, you kept giving him those soft and reassuring touches, until finally, Sam let himself give into them.

He laid with his head in your lap and curled up at your side for what felt like hours, and neither he nor you said anything. Then, after a while, Sam heard you softly clear your throat. At first, he thought you were going to ask him something, but you didn’t.

You started to tell him about yourself.

The first thing that Sam learned was that your biological father passed away when you were barely old enough to walk, but that your mom remarried when you were a teenager.

After that, you shared stories about when you were young and in school, and Sam found himself smiling at the teenage-antics that you and Tracy got up to. Sam loved the fact that you were an excellent big sister and seemed to absolutely dote on Tracy.

However, after a few anecdotes about your adult life, just like Sam knew it would, things took a turn.

You told him about the horrific night your parents were killed, how the demon toyed with you and your sister while it celebrated Sam’s darkest times. You didn’t share too many details, but Sam could infer the painful sequence of events and mentally put things together. When you got to the part about how Irv and a small group of hunters stormed into your childhood home and exorcized the demon before it could turn its celebratory wrath onto you and your sister, Sam sent up a silent thank you to Irv. 

From the first time Sam heard the abridged version of the story, he always thought that you started hunting right after that night, but as you revealed more about yourself, Sam learned that wasn’t quite the case.

After that night, Tracy came to live with you, because she was still a minor. You told him that months went by where you thought things had gone back to normal, but then one night after Tracy’s eighteenth birthday, she disappeared for a week.

Two days later, Tracy came home, packed her things, and proclaimed that she was eighteen, done with school, and that you couldn’t stop her from hunting. You told Sam how you remembered watching her walk out the door, and you just couldn’t let her do it by herself.

You went with her, and that’s how you started hunting.

From the other stories that you shared, Sam learned that in spite Irv’s kind-natured exterior, he was rigorous when it came to training you and Tracy. You told Sam about drills of both the physical and mental variety, as well as tests with various supernatural creatures in semi-controlled environments. Your training seemed more organized than anything Sam would have previously given Irv credit for, but Sam couldn’t deny that Irv had covered all his bases with you and taught you everything that he could. It was very obvious that Irv cared for you and Tracy very much, so much so that when you started to ask him questions about what happened to your parents and Irv couldn’t answer them, he brought you to Bobby for information.

As expected, Bobby was respectful of Sam’s life when he explained things to you, and the things that Bobby didn’t tell you, you learned on your own, taking that information with a grain of salt, considering your sources.

Sam always assumed that there had to have been a time in your life when you felt at least some sort of animosity toward him. There was, but not the kind that he was expecting. From what you told him, he learned that you were more _angry_ than anything, but then you told him about one case in particular where everything that could have gone wrong did go wrong.

You tearfully told him how a family of four was killed, because you messed up and made the wrong choice. You told him that the second you went right, you knew you should have went left, but before you could right your wrong, it was too late.

Out of the corner of his eye, Sam saw you start to rub your hands together, like there was still innocent blood on your hands even after years had gone by. Turning around, so that he could look up at you, Sam reached for your hands and kissed your palms and each of your knuckles, trying to silently tell you it was okay, that he’d been there more than once, and that he accepted you just as you accepted him.

As he did, you continued on, telling him that you later realized that _you_ weren’t the reason that family was killed; it was the monster. Once you realized that, you realized you weren’t angry with Sam, but that you were angry at the demon that killed your parents.

While Sam looked up at you in complete awe for realizing something very early on that took him _years_ to understand, you shared the next few years of your life, all the way up until Irv was killed.

Sam had always wondered what made you stop hunting, and without having to ask, you answered his silent question by telling him that you stopped because nothing ever felt like enough. Even still, because Tracy always came first before anything, you hunted with your sister for a while, but you could never hide anything from her. She could see it all and lovingly convinced you to do what needed to be done. So, you left.

When you were done, you sighed, wiped your eyes, and echoed Sam’s words from before, “And then I met you.”

After both your story and Sam’s were laid out for each of you to plainly see, there was a shared sense of relief and a more deep-seated connection. Neither of you had experienced anything like it before, and that day, both you and Sam knew that what the two of you had would, in the best way possible, never be the same.


	8. Think Back to the First Day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While Sam was away for five days, he thought back to the first day that he spent with you. 
> 
> Little did he know, you were thinking about it too....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A gigantic thank you to my bestie, LadyAtaralasse for proofing this. You're the best, and I miss your face.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

_After a long shift in the laundry room, you collapsed in your bed, exhausted. The sheets felt cold and empty and very Sam-less. Five days had gone by since you last saw him, but he promised that he’d show up sometime the next afternoon or evening. You smiled as you remembered Sam’s promise and promptly fell asleep._

_-_

_“Baby, wake up,” Sam’s whisper-rough voice murmured in your ear. “I missed you.”_

_You rolled over into his waiting arms. “Mmm. Missed you too.”_

_Groaning low, he slowly dragged his fingers up and down your breastbone, going lower and lower with each pass. “You know what else I missed?”_

_When he dragged his fingers further down, you gasped, thinking that he was going to touch you. You whined when he didn’t._

_“I asked you a question, little girl,” Sam reminded you in a deep and gravelly tone that made you shiver._

_Quickly, you asked, “What else did you miss, Sam?”_

_“This.” He traced your slit so softly that it made you ache. “I missed this perfect fucking pussy, and I want it, right now.”_

_After you spread your legs wider for him, Sam flipped you over and instantly pushed two fingers inside you. When you gasped and moaned at the sudden stretch, he draped his warm and naked body over your back and nipped at your ear. “God, I wanna fuck you so hard, little girl. Make you beg and scream my name.”_

_Moaning at Sam’s filthy mouth, you tried to push back into his hand, but he stopped you with a quick and stinging swat on your ass. You gasped and threw your head back._

_“I don’t remember saying you could move.” Sam took his mouth away from your ear and moved so that he was kneeling behind you._

_You stayed still like you were told, but whined at the loss of Sam’s weight and warmth._

_Still slowly thrusting his two fingers into you, he chuckled. “You’re a needy little slut tonight, aren’t you?”_

_“Yes, Sam,” you sobbed, shaking with want, but trying to not move._

_“I suppose that’s ‘cause I haven’t let you come in, what? Three or four days?”_

_“F-f-five, Sam,” you stammered. “Please! I need-”_

_“Me to fuck you?” he interrupted you with a grin on his face._

_“Please,” you begged. “Sam, please!”_

_“Oh, I’m going to, but not yet.” He slowed his fingers down to practically nothing and just barely rubbed at your clit. “Not yet, little girl, ‘cause I wanna watch you. I wanna watch this needy pussy drip and clench and throb all over my hand, and **then** I’ll fuck you.” Sam spanked your ass to emphasize his promise. “And **then** you can come.” He spanked you again. _

Then, you woke up.

In shock from the abrupt change of dead-sleep to wide awake, you stared up into the darkness of your motel room, panting loudly. Brief flashes from your dream quickly ran through your mind. The heat. The want. The ache. The _need_.

“Jesus Chriiiiiist,” you sighed. The breath in your lungs came out in a stuttered stream and ended in a pitifully needy moan as you stared up in the dark with a surprised look on your face.

Other than the very first time that Sam came to your motel room, you and he never did anything even _close to_ what you dreamed about. In fact, over the few months that you were with him, things had been fairly vanilla. Every once in a while, he’d lift you up and toss you on the bed like you were light as a feather, and occasionally, he’d pin either you or your hands down onto the mattress, but other than that, the dominant side of Sam that you only saw the first day he came to your motel room never made a reappearance. Which was totally fine.

You really enjoyed spending time with Sam, getting to know him, and letting him get to know you as well. But then the night that you and he used those nipple clamps happened and seeing even a glimmer of that dominant side of Sam again was nearly all you could think about for almost a week, so much so that it filled your dreams.

Just like in your dream, that first day, Sam seemed so confident and incredibly dominant. He knew what he wanted, and when you were more than willing to give it to him, he had absolutely no problems showing you how much he was turned on by your submission to him, even if just for a short time. Because of that, you were almost certain he wouldn’t have a problem with you bringing that day up, talking about it, and telling him that you still thought about it. The only problem was, you had absolutely no idea _how to_ bring it up.

“Fuck it,” you told your dark and empty motel room and reached for your phone. You had every intention to call Sam and tell him about your dream – if describing a perfectly filthy dream where he Dom’d the fuck out of you wasn’t the perfect lead-in, you didn’t know what was – but when you looked at your phone, you saw it was 5:17AM.

Sam might have been adorably oblivious to other people’s sleep patterns, but you weren’t. Of course, you knew he probably didn’t keep _normal_ people’s sleep patterns when he was away from you, but Sam had just worked a case. If there was even a chance that he was sleeping, you for sure didn’t want to wake him.

It could wait.

Even though you set your phone back on your end table, thoughts of Sam and your dream left your head spinning, and the wet, desperate ache between your legs almost drove you crazy. Unable to help yourself, you slid one of your shaky hands inside your panties. You hardly even touched yourself, but you moaned loudly into the dark.

You felt swollen and hot under your hand, and when you just barely dragged your pointer finger up your slit, it became soaked with your ample wetness.

It would have been _so easy_ to slide your finger between your slick lower lips and circle your throbbing clit, and it would have been even easier to make yourself come. If you did, the heat and ache that made your body throb would slowly melt away, but it would have been a lie to say that there wasn’t a part of you that liked the needy feeling that was coursing through your entire body.

Dream-you loved it, and so did awake-you. The only problem was, dream-you had Sam in her bed, and awake-you did not.

However, Sam would be back to town sometime that evening, and over the months that you were with him, you learned he could make you come with several parts of his body _a million times better_ than you ever could with your own hand or even the vibrators that you had tucked inside your bedside table drawer.

It was worth the wait.

Just as you took your shaky hand out of your panties, the alarm went off on your phone.

5:30AM

You had to go to work.

*//*

With less than a handful of hours between him and you, Sam sat in the passenger side seat of the Impala, eagerly awaiting his return to Lebanon, Kansas. Five days hadn’t been the longest stretch of time that he’d been away from you, but on the third day, Sam decided it was plenty long enough.

To help pass the time on the drive back, he checked newsfeeds on his tablet, but more often than not, he caught himself staring out at the highway. After there were only hayfields for miles upon miles and he lost track of time, Sam felt his phone go off in his pocket.

To his left, Dean chuckled and grinned at the highway in front of the Impala. “Wonder who that could _possibly_ be?”

Sam grinned too and looked down at his phone.

 **[Kahlan Amnell 12:48PM]: I don’t really need this job thing, do I?**  
**[Jim Page 12:48PM]: Hahah. Coffee helps.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:49PM]: Don’t want coffee.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:49PM]: I’m pouting in case you can’t tell.**  
**[Jim Page 12:50PM]: What do you want?**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:50PM]: Have I been alone for five days too long, or is that a dirty**  
**question?**  
**[Jim Page 6:50PM]: I originally meant if you wanted something specific for supper, I could**  
**stop somewhere and get it for you before I get to your room tonight,**  
                                **but I am definitely up for dirty.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:51PM]: As much as I miss THAT particular kind of dirty, if I don’t get**  
**this laundry order washed, I’m going to have to work on it**  
**tomorrow.**  
**[Jim Page 12:51PM]: But tomorrow’s Wednesday. Your day off.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:51AM]: If I don’t finish this order tonight, preferably before you get here,**  
**my pretty ass is going to be spending tomorrow folding laundry.**  
**[Jim Page 12:52PM]: Then, MAYBE, you should get that pretty ass to work and quit texting**  
**me? Hmmmm??? ;)**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:53PM]: LOL Sounds like someone put on their bossy plaid today.**

Sam laughed out loud at your text.  

“What?” Dean wondered, curious to know what you could have said that was so funny.

Shaking his head at his brother, Sam decided to keep on with the ‘bossy’ themed texting.

 **[Jim Page 12:53PM]: I’m pretty sure you can’t fold sheets AND make cheap shots about my**  
                                 **shirt.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:53PM]: Ahem. Voice to text. Thank you very much.**  
**[Jim Page 12:53PM]: Sounds like someone put on their sassy panties today.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:54PM]: I’m not wearing any panties.**  
**[Jim Page 12:54PM]: What ARE you wearing?**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:54PM]: I’m sorry, I REALLY have to get to work. Bossy Plaid is being**  
**extra bossy today.**  
**[Jim Page 12:54PM]: LOL I’ll text you when I get to town.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:55PM]: Should I expect a text from Sam or Bossy Plaid?**  
**[Jim Page 12:55PM]: Sam IN bossy plaid.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 12:55PM]: Dirty.**

Sam chuckled at your text, and when you didn’t add anything else, put his phone down.

Dean watched Sam do this, then teasingly asked, “She send good pictures?”

Rolling his eyes, Sam shook his head and turned up the stereo.

Taking pride in his annoying-big-brother-role, Dean turned it right back down again. “You two have plans tonight?”

“She said she’s got a big laundry order to finish tonight, so I don’t know.” Sam shrugged. “But tomorrow’s her day off. I’ll probably stay the night.”

“So, things are goin’ good between you and ________?”

“Yeah.” Sam picked his phone back up and quickly scrolled through your most recent texts. He smiled. “Really good.”

Happy for his brother, Dean nodded his head and turned the stereo back up. “Good.”  

-

Three and a half hours later, Sam let himself into your motel room. He figured you were still in the laundry room, but he thought _maybe_ Larry gave you a break.

When Sam walked into your room and found it empty, he knew Larry had most definitely _not_ given you a break.

God, Sam hated that guy.

Over the months that you and Sam were together, he noticed how Larry made snide and annoyingly suggestive remarks to you, not to mention those looks he gave you that lasted just a few seconds too long.

Sam always clenched his jaw and kept his thoughts to himself. In spite of how you would playfully complain about your job, Sam knew you needed it. Still, he would have happily hustled a few extra games of pool a week to pay for your room – or something even bigger to get you out of that motel altogether – but there was something about the look on your face when you talked about your job. You looked proud that – other than your fake name – you were doing everything legit.

Sam liked that, so he kept his thoughts to himself. If you could deal with your pervy bossy, so could he.

“But so help me God if he ever touches her,” he mumbled to himself, then heard his phone go off in his pocket.

 **[Kahlan Amnell 3:26PM] Whenever you get here, I’m still in the laundry room. Use the door**  
                                        **around back.**  
**[Jim Page 3:26PM] Just walked into your room. Be there in a minute.**

As Sam walked around the back of the motel, he thought about the string of texts on his phone from earlier in the day. He knew the conversation was just playful, but it still was relatively adjacent to one you and he had the first day he came to your motel room.

That day was something Sam never could get out of his head, no matter how hard he tried. If he was honest with himself, he’d admit that before you and he reconciled, his mind would get away from him when he thought about you. During those times, Sam would imagine that he would randomly run into you at the Gas-n-Sip across the alley from your motel room or maybe at the café. He imagined that it wouldn’t be awkward, that he’d say all the right things at all the perfect times, and it would be like the cruel twist of fate never happened. You and Sam would get to know each other and be together in a way that your life and his would allow, all while finding the perfect balance between his preferences as a Dom and yours as a sub.

Of course, Sam knew that was something that would never just happen so simply. Still, every once in a while, the fantasy would cross his mind, and he’d always promise himself that if he ever had you again, he’d never let you go. That promise included protecting you, taking care of you, and being with you and there for you in a way that only a Dom could.

Then, the next thing Sam knew, something amazingly rare happened to him: he got what he wanted. You were back, and you wanted to be with him.

Over the months, he got caught up in you and in everything about you and your life. And, sure, there was a part of him that had the urge to recreate the Dom and sub dynamic from that first day and his fantasies, but he really was satisfied with the relationship that you and he started to build.

Then, you pulled those nipple clamps out of the drawer next to your bed, and the second he put them in place, he watched how your body went pliant in his hands. It was truly obvious – and addictive and arousing as fuck – how much you liked the tight pleasure-pain and how much it really turned you on. After that, Sam was almost positive you wanted all the things he craved to give you, but he had no idea how to ask you that.

The playful text exchange from earlier in the day made Sam pretty confident that if he did figure out the right way to mention it to you, you would be open to talking about it.

“Bossy plaid,” Sam laughed to himself quietly, then knocked on the door labeled, _Laundry_.

Knowing it was Sam, you opened the door. When you saw the blue and green plaid that peaked out from under his brown jacket, you grinned up at him. “Nice shirt.”

“I thought you might like it.” Sam grinned right back at you, then groaned when you reached forward and slowly ran your hands down his chest.

Every place that your fingertips touched tingled like it had been asleep for five days and just started to wake back up again. Of course, over those five days, Sam missed you, but that was the moment when he realized exactly how much he really missed you.

Just before your hands went any further than his stomach, he quickly but gently shooed them away and pulled you into his arms. Holding your ass in his hands, he lifted you up until your face was level with his.

After pressing a light kiss onto your lips, Sam nuzzled your cheek and buried his face in your collarbone. “God, I missed you.” 

“Missed you too.” You kissed the top of his head and lightly combed your fingers through his hair.

A little whine slipped out of your mouth when Sam suddenly started to let your body slide down his. Not wanting to move from where you were, you wrapped your legs around his waist.

Sam chuckled and kissed you again. “Don’t wanna start something if Larry’s just gonna bust down that door in two seconds.”

“ _Actually_ …” You kissed Sam. “Both Larry and Marissa are gone; the motel is closed for the night. That’s why I had you use the other door.”

After taking one hand away from your ass, Sam reached behind himself to close and lock the door, then taking a minute, he looked around the laundry room. There were a couple of industrial sized washers and dryers, countless shelves with sheets, towels, and other bedding on them, several racks with what looked like nursing scrubs hanging from them, and a long, white table with random stacks of linens sitting on its surface.

For a half-second, Sam pictured himself laying you down on that table and peeling away all your clothes to see if you really weren’t wearing any panties like you said in your texts, but instead he grinned at you. “I seem to remember you saying something about having a big laundry order. Seems to me you should probably get to it.”

Smirking, you pointed the table full of folded sheets. “Just finished. I’ve got a whole half an hour before someone comes to pick them up.”

“A whole half an hour, huh?” After you nodded your head, Sam nipped at your bottom lip before kissing you again. “Are you _sure_ that’s all you have left to do? Because if it’s not, you just might get into trouble.”

What you thought was innuendo made a smile stretch your lips, and you mumbled under your breath, “Bossy plaid strikes again.”

“And sassy panties returns.” Sam laughed and gave your ass a playful swat. “I _meant_ if Larry finds out that you were in here _with_ _me_ and not doing whatever he told you to do, it’ll probably piss him off. He doesn’t seem to like me very much.”

A little shocked – pleasantly shocked, but still shocked – that Sam _spanked_ you, you just looked at him, not really sure what to say.

Of course, Sam saw the expression on your face. “What?”

“You-” A small chuckle spilled out of your mouth. “You…uh. You just _spanked_ me.”

Pausing for a beat, Sam replayed the previous handful of seconds over in his head. He _did_ spank you. “Oh. Um.” He gently rubbed his hand over that place on your ass. “Is that…okay?”

Little flickers of your dream played in your mind, making you feel hot all over and making it feel like Sam’s hand was drawing the sweetest lines of heat into your skin. “Yeah,” you croaked, then swallowed and tried again. “Yes; it’s okay.”

As you answered him, Sam felt you shift in his hands and try to push your body closer to his. Wanting the same thing, he tightened your legs around his waist and turned so he could press you against a nearby wall.

Once he had you pinned back against the white drywall, Sam nosed at your warm and flushed cheek. “ _It’s okay_ , as in you don’t mind that I spanked you the one time? Or _it’s_ _okay_ , as in you like it, and I can do it again?”

As Sam asked his questions, you felt his hand tighten on your ass in the exact place he spanked you in your dream. You wanted it, wanted Sam, and wanted some version of your dream to be reality.

You took a shaky breath. “As in, I like it, and you can do it again.”

Humming low, Sam took one hand away from your ass and traced his fingertips up over your hip and waist. “Is it okay that I really, _really_ like that?”

Feeling the tips of his fingers just barely brush over your ribs made your breath catch in your throat, but you managed a tight sounding, “Yes.”

Truly unable to think of a better lead-in to the conversation he’d been wanting to start with you for months, Sam slid that same hand further up your body and lightly stroked your cheek and chin. “Now that I know that, there’s something I’ve been wanting to talk to you about.”  

Part of you was one-hundred-percent sure you knew what Sam was referring to, but there was still one tiny part of you that wasn’t. More breathily than you meant to, you asked, “What?”

As you waited for Sam to answer your question, he watched you catch your bottom lip between your teeth. Barely able to stop himself from absolutely devouring your mouth, Sam used his thumb to gently pull your lip free. “Do you ever think about that first day I came to see you? What we… _did_?”

More flickers from your dream played in your mind: Sam and his rough voice telling you, ‘no; not yet,’ as he spanked your ass just hard enough to leave behind that sweet sting that made your toes curl all while his filthy mouth felt like velvet on your skin.

Nodding your head, you took a deep breath. “Yes. Do you?”

Simultaneously sighing in relief and chuckling at your quiet question, Sam nodded his head. “I haven’t been able to get it out of my head for months.”

“How come you didn’t say anything before?”

Sam shrugged. “Never seemed like the right time, and I was never totally sure it was what you wanted. Then, nipple clamps and _Bossy Plaid_ happened, and you told me I could spank you, so I took a shot.”

Grinning at him, you moved your head forward and pressed a light kiss onto Sam’s lips. “We might have to talk about a few things, but, yes, that’s what I want.”

“We’ll _definitely_ have to talk about a few things,” Sam agreed with a huge smile on his face. “But not right now.”

You were surprised. “No?”

Shaking his head, he kissed you again and whispered raggedly against your lips, “No, because I’ve been wanting to lay you out on that table and taste you since I walked in here.”

“Oh. Um. Yeah. We- We can,” you stammered, then laughed at yourself. “We can do that.”

Immediately, Sam started to carry you over to the table. “I thought so.”

After he set you down on the tabletop, he carefully moved all your stacks of laundry to the side, then laid you down in front of him. Admiring how you were spread for him, he brought his hands back to your hips. He stroked them through your jeans, then slid his hands up under your shirt and pulled it up over your head.

During the many, _many_ times that Sam undressed you, he always noticed that you wore simple bras – sometimes, no bra at all – but after he got your shirt off you, he noticed, that time, you were wearing something different. Since it wasn’t plaid or canvas or denim, Sam didn’t know the name for what you were wearing; all he _did know_ was that he liked it.

Lace, almost the exact same color as your skin, covered your breasts all the way down to just above the top of your jeans. Sam traced his fingertips over the detailing on the bottom hem, up the sides, and over the seam just under your breasts, groaning when your back slightly arched off the table.

“I like this,” Sam told you as he inched his fingertips up to your nipples perking up against the fabric. He couldn’t see them through whatever it was you were wearing, just the outline of their protruding shape. “I _really_ fucking like this.”

After swallowing the thick-feeling in your throat, you reached up and rubbed your hands over Sam’s forearms, encouraging him to keep thumbing at your nipples. “You like the lace?” When he nodded his head, you smiled. “I’ll remember that.”

Sam only grinned at you, then took his hands away from your breasts. You momentarily whined, but then sighed when he started to work the button and zipper open on your jeans.

“Now, if I remember correctly,” he playfully started, “in your texts, you said you weren’t wearing any panties.”

Trying to keep from smiling, you pressed your lips tightly together.

Seeing you do that, Sam chuckled. “Should we see if you were telling the truth?”

Unable to hide your smile any longer, you tried to help him pull off your jeans, but he stopped you.

“No.” Sam shook his head. “ _I_ want to do it; been thinking about this for _days_.” He _had been_ thinking about doing that exact thing the entire five days he was gone, but it went just a little bit differently. In his imagination, he used your shirt to tie up your wrists.

Wanting just a little bit of that, he wondered, “What if I told you to put your hands above your head? Would you do it?”

Reaching up, you stretched your arms, so you could grab onto the edge of the table. “Like this?”

Seeing you literally on display for him, made Sam groan. “That’s perfect, baby. Can you stay just like this for me?”

Nodding your head, you gripped the edge of the table tighter in your hands, then shivered when you felt Sam’s fingers drag over your lower stomach.

After slowly pulling your zipper down, he brought his hands back up and lightly tugged on your jeans until they came down over your hips and ass, then the tops of your thighs. Immediately, he saw that you were indeed _not_ wearing panties.

Not wasting any more time, Sam got rid of your shoes and pulled your jeans the rest of the way down your legs. Stroking his hands up and down your naked thighs, he ran his tongue over his bottom lip. “I guess you _were_ telling the truth.”

“I told you,” you laughed softly.

“So, how come no panties, today?” he asked, slowly working his hands closer and closer to where he knew you wanted him to touch you.

Gripping the edge of the table even tighter in your hands, you gasped out, “Got a late start this morning.”

“How come?”

Nibbling on your lower lip, you mentally debated whether or not to tell Sam exactly _why_ you got the late start to work that morning. As you did, you watched a sly smirk spread across Sam’s face, telling you that he was thinking something absolutely filthy. You laughed. “It’s not what you’re thinking.”

“No?” Sam wondered. “I was gone for five whole days….”

“Oh, I’m aware,” you sassed and rocked your hips up, hoping for a touch of his hand. He didn’t give it to you.

You were right: Sam _was_ thinking about something absolutely filthy. He was imagining you in your bed, alone, touching yourself the same way you did the first day he came to your motel room. “It’s not what I’m thinking, huh?”

You shook your head. “No.”

Because Sam really did like the idea of you touching yourself and making yourself come because he was gone for so long, he asked, “What about a different day?” He bent down and lightly kissed the inside of your thigh. “There had to have been at least one day where you….”

You gasped when Sam pressed a soft kiss onto your aching pussy. “No; I didn’t.”

“Really?” When you shook your head again, he asked, “How come?”

“ _Saaaaaam_ ,” you whined and wiggled your hips. “ _Pleeeeease_.”  

Giving you what you wanted, Sam slid his tongue between your lower lips and lapped at your clit. When your hips rose up off the table, he pushed them back down, then continued to swirl his tongue around your swollen patch of skin, drawing it between his lips before taking his mouth away. “So, you’re telling me, I was gone for five whole days, and you didn’t make yourself come even once?”

“No,” you sobbed and tried to push your hips back up again.

Sam pushed them back down. “Why?”

You whined again. “Be-because I wanted to wait for you.”

Stroking your hips with his hands, Sam sighed, “Baby, you don’t have to wait for me. I’m gone for days…sometimes _weeks_. You don’t have to wait-”

“But I do,” you interrupted, “ _wait_ …for you. All the time.”

Shocked, Sam’s eyes went wide. “ _Really_? You don’t…. Even when I was gone that one time for over two weeks?”

Only able to pant heavy breaths, you nodded your head.

“Holy shit,” he breathed and let that fact absorb into his brain. After he thought about you, needy in your bed, probably with flushed cheeks, reddened lips, nipples perfectly hard and rounded, and your pussy swollen and slick and even more tight than usual, all waiting _for him_ , he groaned so low it almost hurt, “ _Fuck_ , I like that.”

“ _Saaaaam_ ,” you whimpered his name. Regardless of the many things that he decided he liked over the previous handful of minutes, you were still achingly needy. “ _Pleeeeease_.”

Suddenly filled with an overwhelming need to taste your self-denied pussy, Sam brought his mouth back down and quickly found your clit just as he eased two fingers inside you. Groaning when your taste flooded his mouth, he lapped at your slick and swollen skin, absolutely loving the sounds you started to make for him.

Quicker than he anticipated, the little noises you made started to get more and more needy, and your hips started to rock faster against his face. Wanting to watch as he tasted, Sam quickly flicked his eyes up to you and saw your hands still wrapped tightly around the edge of the table, your head lolling back and forth on its smooth white surface, and just when he could both taste and feel your orgasm creeping up, Sam heard something that didn’t belong.

He stopped.

On the other side of the main laundry room door, Sam could hear footsteps and papers rustling.

Lost in the fact that you’d _almost_ come and then had _everything_ stopped in a split-second, you whined, “ _Pleas_ -”

“Shhh,” Sam quickly interrupted you. “Someone’s here.”

“I told you,” you gasped, “there’s no one else-” Then, you heard it too. On the other side of the door, there was the distinct sound of footsteps and then the sound of  keys jingling. “Son of a whore,” you growled under your breath, flew up from the table, and quickly started to pull on your jeans. “It’s Larry.”

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Sam sighed angrily, but worked just as fast as you to get your jeans buttoned and zipped.

Shoving his hands away from your button, you looked up at Sam. “You have to get out of here. I’m really, _really_ sorry, but I can’t get fired. If he sees you-” but before you could finish, he flung himself under the long, white table.

“M’not going _anywhere_ ,” Sam grunted protectively and tossed your shirt at you. “Put that on.”

Just as you went to pull your shirt over your head, Larry walked into the laundry room. As soon as he saw you and the skin-colored camisole that you were wearing, his eyes went wide, and a slimy-grin spread across his face.

“Well, my day just got a _whole lot_ better,” Larry chuckled, not even trying to hide the fact that he was staring at your breasts. “And might I say, you’re _extra_ perky today. Is it cold in here?”

Rolling your eyes at him, you moved to cross your arms over your chest, but heard Sam growl from his place under the table. Reaching down, you covered his mouth. “Larry, what the hell are you doing here? I thought you left for the night.”

“Last time I checked, I owned the place.”

“Anything I can do to get you out of here faster?” you snapped, becoming more and more irritated with the fact that he would _not_ stop staring at your chest.

“Oh, honey….” Larry’s grin widened. “There’s _lots_ of things-”

Not at all in the mood to verbally spar with Larry, you interrupted, “Finish that sentence, and you’ll walk with a limp for a week.”

Just as Larry laughed again, you heard Sam just barely mumble, “Damn right you will.”

Completely oblivious to the fact that you had a six-foot-four _hunter_ – who could no doubt make good on your threat in point-two seconds – smuggled under the table, Larry started to gather your piles of carefully folded laundry. “Thought I’d save a couple’a pennies and make the delivery myself. Care to help an old man out?”

Only to get Larry out of the laundry room, you quickly stepped into your shoes and grabbed an armload of sheets, but just as you started to follow him out of the room, a hand on your lower leg stopped you.

When Larry was out of sight, you looked back at Sam. He reached up on top of the table, grabbed your shirt, and held it out for you.

Just loud enough for you to hear, he hissed through his teeth, “Put it on!”

You’d never heard Sam talk like that before, but once you did, like it was instinct, you quickly set down your piles of laundry and immediately put on your shirt.

“Thank you,” Sam sighed, feeling relieved that Larry wouldn’t be able to see the nude colored lace you were wearing.

Sam never had a desire to tell you what you could and couldn’t wear – never thought he had the right to and would _never_ assume that he did – but hearing the things that asshole said to you made Sam livid. Of course, he wasn’t livid at you; he was livid at Larry, and if you wouldn’t have specifically said, ‘I can’t get fired, and if he sees you…’ Sam would have definitely made his presence known.

But, you did, so Sam stayed hidden under the table, only coming out after you were back and told him, “He’s gone.”

After seeing you leaning back against the door, Sam walked over to you. “You okay?”

“Of course I am,” you answered and let him pull you into a hug. Larry might have annoyed the shit out of you, but it never bothered you much. However, you could tell that it _really_ bothered Sam.

Lightly stroking your back, he buried his face in the top of your head and breathed in a lungful of your scent. “I really, _really_ don’t like him.”

“I know you don’t, but just for the record, he’s all talk, which is mostly pervy, but then I threaten bodily harm, and then it’s done.” You looked up at Sam and shrugged. “He’s never done anything _but_ look.”

He pursed his lips and sighed through his nose. “I still don’t like him.”

“It’s okay. You don’t have to. He’s just….” You tried to think of an appropriate way to describe Larry. “It’s like he’s got a kink for wanting something he can’t have.”

Knowing that he displayed enough of his territorial tendencies for one evening, Sam tried to keep himself in check and simply nodded his head.

You could tell that he was purposely keeping his mouth shut to try to keep his opinions to himself, but even though Sam stayed quiet, you could see all over his face what he was thinking. His jaw was clenched. His eyes were dark and a little wild, and you noticed he straightened his back and broadened his shoulders when you started to talk more about Larry. Sam looked slightly territorial and a little possessive even though he was trying not to, and seeing that only exacerbated the wet and needy throb hidden under your jeans. 

Aching to see more than just slight hints of the _Bossy Plaid_ that you all of the sudden needed like air, you wondered, “Do you know _why_ he can’t have me?”

With his hands splayed out over the small of your back, holding you so close to him, the word, _Mine_ , echoed in Sam’s mind. He wanted to say it, wanted it to be true and obvious with no questions asked, but with very little talk of what he could and couldn’t have, Sam was very reluctant to stake claim where he wasn’t sure he was allowed. A low noise rumbled in his chest, but he shook his head.

Without answering your own question, you wiggled out of Sam’s grasp and started to lead him out of the laundry room, hoping that if you got him in the privacy of your room, he would open up. However, just after you closed the door behind the two of you, and you and he were standing outside the motel in the dark, he backed you up against the brick side of the building.

“Why?” Sam asked, suddenly _needing_ to hear you say it. “Why can’t he have you?”  

The desperate possessiveness in his eyes, body language, and voice were unmistakable. Sam wanted to take just as much as you wanted to give; he just needed permission first, so you told him, “Because I’m pretty sure I’m yours.” 

Letting that sink into his head, Sam reached around your body with his left hand and used your ass to pull you closer to him. With his right hand, he gently stroked your chin and bottom lip with his thumb while the word, _Mine_ , still thrummed in his brain. “ _Pretty_ sure?”

After you nodded your head at Sam, he groaned and lightly dragged his hand down your jaw to your neck and lightly traced the length of your collarbone. When you shivered and let your body sag between Sam’s body and the brick wall of the motel, the corners of his mouth turned up in an appreciative smirk.

Bringing the tips of his fingers down between your breasts and along your sternum, Sam drew lines up and down your middle. “I really like when you do that.”

“Do what?” you gasped, feeling more of that head-spinning need that you felt after you woke up from your dream.

Sam brought his fingertips even further down and lightly brushed over your zipper. “When I touch you, and you melt in my hands.” When the mere words made your body go completely pliant against his, he kissed his way up your neck and whispered in your ear, “You said that you were _pretty sure_ you’re mine. Is that what you want? To be mine?”

Quickly, you nodded your head and tilted it to the side, craving his lips on your skin.

Gently taking your chin in his hand, Sam tilted your head up and made you look at him. “Please say _yes_ or _no_. Do you want to be mine?”

You never realized how much you ached for Sam to ask that question. It’s exactly what you wanted, felt perfectly right, and like it was exactly what was supposed to happen. “Yes.”

Before he got his hopes up, Sam wanted to make sure you knew what he was referring to, and he held nothing back. “Do you know what that means? What I would be for you and what you would be for me?”

“Yes,” you answered, gasping when your skin instantly prickled with excitement and want every single place that he touched you. “I would be your submissive, and you would my Dominant.”

After you said the words, Sam felt like there was a livewire connecting his body to yours. It felt like surprise but still like anticipation, and he suddenly couldn’t wait for what would happen next. Wanting to feel every ounce of energy running between him and you, he used his body to push you even tighter to the motel’s wall and _finally_ let himself devour your mouth.

Trying to keep up with the rapid twists and curls of Sam’s tongue against yours, you moaned in his mouth, then just let him lead the way. Using the very tip of his tongue he teased yours, coaxed it between his own lips, then deliciously mauled your mouth all over again.

Just when you couldn’t breathe, just when your lungs burned for a fresh breath of oxygen, Sam rested his forehead against yours and held your face in his hands.

“Mine,” he grunted possessively, groaning when he felt your knees buckle.

Encouraging you to continue breathing, he gently caressed your shoulder and upper arms all while using his body to hold you up. Part of him wanted to show you exactly how possessive he could be right up against the wall, but there was _no way_ Sam was going to leave that moment to chance and let it get interrupted.

He quickly lifted you up and carried you around the motel, then got your door open in record time. Once he had the deadbolt, the chain, and the privacy lock all ensuring him that there would be no more interruptions, Sam let your body slide down his.

When you quietly whined at the loss of his arms and hands, Sam knew what you wanted. He wanted it too, but decided that before he did _anything_ , he needed to know what you were and weren’t okay with doing.

Wanting to keep it short and with minimal discussion – a longer and more in depth conversation would come later – Sam told you, “I want you to think back to the first day I came to your motel room. Did you _like_ when I told you what to do?”

Nodding your head, you swallowed and tried to steady your breathing. “Yes.”

Your answer made Sam groan and his cock twitch in his jeans. “What if I wanted to do it again, _right_ _now_? Would you be okay with that?”

The thought of Sam filling you up and making you come after wanting it _for days_ made your stomach excitedly flip-flop. “Yes.”

“What about when I called you _little girl_? Did you like that?”

Another stomach flip-flop happened, followed by a delightful flutter that sent tingles all throughout your body. “Yes.”

“Me too.” Feeling his entire body shake with anticipation, Sam took a breath to calm himself; he didn’t want to fuck _anything_ up. “Before I even touch you, I just want you to know that you don’t _ever_ have to do _anything_ you don’t want to do. Right now, all you have to do is tell me to stop and I swear I will. Okay?”

“Okay,” you echoed back and watched Sam look you up and down. You couldn’t feel it, but your whole body shivered.

When he saw your response, Sam groaned a needy sound, but before he started, he realized that you’d been waiting five whole days to come. “Is there anything you specifically want me to do?”

Sighing desperately at the mental laundry list of things you were craving, you let your head fall forward and rest on Sam’s chest, too needy to try to form words.

When he murmured, “Please tell me,” you looked at him again.

“I like when you push into me slow, but still hard.”

“ _Fuuck_.” Sam was in complete shock that you wanted him to do all the things that he had been _craving_ to do to you. Wanting you to tell him more, he nipped at your bottom lip. “Mmmm, baby, I like that too. What else?”

What you really, _really_ wanted teetered on the very tip of your tongue. Like Sam knew it, he kissed your mouth open and gave your tongue a lick.

“I want to know,” he panted. “If you like it and want it, I _want_ to give it to you.”

“Tell me when I can come,” you blurted quickly. “I like how you told me when I could and couldn’t come.”

“ _God_ _damnit_ ,” Sam rasped low and canted his hips into yours. “Fuck, I like that too. What else?”

 “ _Saaaaaaaam_ ,” you whined, “ _Five days_ and then the aborted mission in the laundry room. I like everything right now.”

Chuckling, Sam nodded his head. “Okay, okay. How about I only do what we’ve already done? Would that be okay?” After hearing you sigh in relief and answer that it would be okay, he took a deep breath. It was finally happening. Sam wanted it for so long. “Ready?”

Anxious and excited and incredibly eager for everything that was about to begin, you took a deep breath too. The word, _Ready_ , sat on the tip of your tongue, but at the last minute, you remembered Sam’s reaction when you said his name.

You looked up at him and met his eyes. “Yes, Sam.”

He grinned. “Very good, little girl.”


	9. Because the Night Belongs to Us

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a panty-melting dream about Sam and a real-life string of _Bossy Plaid_ texts, there was a conversation about you becoming Sam's submissive, and him becoming your Dominant. 
> 
> This is what happened next.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter title comes from a song originally by Patty Smith, but I have an ever-lasting love for the 10,000 Maniacs' version. It's called, _Because the Night_ and can be enjoyed [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ydKbP0L9qcE)
> 
> _Take me now, baby, here as I am_  
>  _Hold me close, try and understand_  
>  _Desire is hunger is the fire I breathe_  
>  _Love is a banquet on which we feed_
> 
> _Come on now, try and understand_  
>  _The way I feel under your command_  
>  _Take my hand, as the sun descends_  
>  _They can't hurt you now_  
>  _Can't hurt you now_  
>  _Can't hurt you now_
> 
> _Because the night belongs to lovers_  
>  _Because the night belongs to us_  
>  _Because the night belongs to lovers_  
>  _Because the night belongs to us_
> 
> and a special thanks to LadyAtaralasse. You're the best.
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

Sam took a deep breath. It was finally happening. You were standing in front of him, wanting and willing to be his.

 _To_. _Be_. _His_.

_His girl._

_His submissive._

_His._

_Mine._

From the moment he saw you in the café, Sam wanted you. At first, he wanted you in his bed and in his hands, but after everything that happened between him and you, things changed. Sure, he still wanted you in his bed and in his hands – that would never change – but he wanted to know you and be with you and there for you in a way that only a Dom could.

And it was happening.

Sam wanted it, you, and that moment for so long.

He stood in front of you and looked you directly in the eyes. “Ready?”

Once Sam asked his question, he watched you take a breath too. You paused for just a second, then looked up him. “Yes, Sam.”

Those two, very short, three-letter words gave Sam a rush like he’d never known before that moment. He felt hot and flushed all over. He started to sweat. The front of his jeans felt way too tight. All his clothing felt constrictive. He wanted them gone. The only thing he needed on his body was you.

Sam held it together long enough to flash you a grin and get out a phrase that pleasantly plagued all his dreams and fantasies about you, “Very good, little girl.”

The next thing Sam knew, he had you in his arms. With his mouth firmly locked onto yours, he blindly made his way over to your bed, laid you out on it, and then clothes started flying.

Two pairs of jeans were flung across your motel room and landed near your couch. A handful of shirts went sailing in the direction of your kitchenette, and Sam’s boxer-briefs were kicked down to the end of your bed. He was completely naked, plastered over the top of you, but before he removed your last piece of clothing, Sam stopped.

His heavy and ragged breaths mingled with yours as he took the time to look at the nude-colored lace that covered your breasts and stomach. Sam had seen it earlier in the laundry room. He thought it was sexy as fuck the first time he saw it, and the second time was no different.

Loving how the soft lace felt under his fingertips as he lightly stroked the material, Sam brought his mouth down and kissed along the same trails as his fingers. Holding your waist in his hands, he kissed his way up and down your ribs, then moved up to your breasts. Just like before, he couldn’t see your nipples through the flesh-colored lace, but he could see them pushing eagerly up against the fabric.

Using his tongue and mouth, Sam licked and sucked, making your nipples push and peak even harder against the soft material and making your body squirm under his. When he traded out his tongue for his teeth and raked them over your pert nipples, you gasped out his name.

“Sam. Please,” you gasped again and reached down to tug up on the hem of your camisole. “ _Please_. Just take it off.”

When Sam shooed your hands away and pinned them above your head with just one of his strong fists, you felt like you were going out of your mind in the most beautiful way. Still, because you’d literally _dreamed_ about that moment, you tried to commit to memory the way Sam moved, the way he touched you and looked at you, and the way that night felt like an amazingly perfect whirlwind of heat and want.

You wanted _Sam_. You wanted to be his safe haven, the one place where _the job_ couldn’t follow. You wanted to give him comfort, make him feel wanted and safe in all the same ways that he did for you. You wanted what he wanted: to be _his._ But in that moment, when he kept tracing the patterns in the lace covering your breasts, more than anything, you wanted Sam’s lips, hands, and body _everywhere_. You wanted his skin on yours.

Still drawing invisible figure-eights on wet spots that his mouth made over the tops of your nipples with his right hand, while his left firmly held your wrists above your head, Sam kissed the lace seam under your breasts. “What’s this called?”

“Torture,” you sassed breathlessly. “It’s called, tor-.”

Grinning at you, Sam raised one of his eyebrows. He didn’t say anything aloud, but the look on his face plainly said, _This is **nothing**._

Your want and five-day-old need outweighed your sass. “It’s a camisole.”

Humming and committing to memory the name for the small piece of clothing that he really, _really_ fucking liked, Sam continued to tease your nipples. He made feather-light strokes at first, then he used his thumb and pointer finger to gently roll them. It was never hard – he knew the nipple clamps that he had once used on you pinched harder – but the continued stimulation made you start to really writhe up against him.

After a minute or so, he started to move with you, and you were able to rub your naked pussy along what felt like Sam’s hipbone. He must have felt it – you could feel his solid and leaking cock push into the inside of your thigh – and because he’d once made you come in a very similar position, you thought he might do it again.

You were wrong.

The second you had the thought, Sam pushed his body up off yours and kneeled between your widely-spread thighs. When you tried to sit up and follow him, Sam shook his head. “You and that _camisole_ are going to stay right there.”

With a whine, you laid back down on the bed, but watched Sam intently, waiting.

Kneeling in front of you, Sam lightly stroked the outsides of your thighs. “Remember before when I told you I like to watch?”

 _How could I forget?_ You swallowed and nodded your head. “Yes.”

“That’s good, because I meant it.” Sam moved his hands to the insides of your thighs and continued stroking. Then, after a minute, he reached for one of your hands and brought it down between your legs. “Touch yourself for me, but don’t come.”

Just like earlier that morning, after you woke up from your panty-melting dream about Sam, the second you dragged one finger up your slit, it was soaked from how wet you were. Using that wetness, you slid your finger alongside your swollen clit.

Other than the few and brief moments in the laundry room where Sam laid you out on the folding table and went down on you, the last time your clit had been shown any attention was the last time Sam was in your motel room. _Five_ days before. Your sensitivity was a testament to that. You were barely touching yourself, but it would have taken _seconds_ for you to make yourself come. However, Sam specifically told you not to.

“Sam,” you panted. “Please. I _need_ to come.”

“I know you do.” He reached forward and ran his first finger up your perineum, then traced around your opening. “I can tell.”

“Please, Sam,” you begged as politely as your needy brain would allow. “Please, can I come?”

“Not yet.” He wanted to watch just a little bit longer, so he lighted his touch as he continued to drag his fingertips over your flushed and slick skin. “You can go as slow as you need to, but I don’t want you to come yet.”

Even though he didn’t push his finger inside of you, Sam could still feel you clenching. One second, you’d tighten up, and then in the next, he could tell you were trying to relax everything, trying _so hard_ to be good for him.

Seeing and feeling all of this, Sam praised you, “You’re doing _so good_. Making this perfect pussy so wet for me, little girl. I can’t wait-”

“Fu-uuck!”

That was the first time Sam’s mouth almost made you come even though it wasn’t anywhere near your pussy.

Balancing on that edge, willing yourself not to go over, you ripped your hand out from between your legs and used both of your fists to clench the sheets below you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you shook your head. “I can’t! I really, _really_ can’t!”

Understanding that he couldn’t push you any further, Sam went back to dragging his fingers up and down the outsides of your thighs. “Shhh. Just breathe,” he murmured softly. “Such a good girl for me.”

Watching you rock your hips into nothing, feeling his cock leak and throb, but ignoring the ache, Sam waited. After a moment, you looked up at him and begged without uttering a single word.

Reaching toward the drawer in the table beside your bed, Sam took out a condom, opened it, and rolled it down over himself. He groaned softly as he felt the latex ring snuggly grip his cock, but you whined just from the sight. It was a needy sound, sure, but you made the sound simply because you’d learned that once Sam put the condom in place, some of the best things were yet to come.

Pun intended.

Leaning down, Sam draped his body over the top of yours again. He braced himself on his thighs and elbows, groaning when he could feel your slick warmth through the condom. Still, he held your face in his hands and stroked your flushed cheeks with his thumbs. “You doin’ all right?”

Breathlessly, you nodded your head and tried so hard not to squirm under Sam; you were still right on that edge. His cock was resting in exactly the right place, and while you wanted to come _so badly_ , you didn’t want to do it while his cock was on the _outside_ of you. “Yes, Sam.”

“ _Fuck_ , I really like when you say that,” he gasped out and rolled his hips into yours, groaning when you frantically sobbed his name. “You’re _so_ close. Aren’t you, little girl?” Sam didn’t wait for a response; he knew you were. “You’ve been close this whole time, but you’re doing so fucking good. I can feel how wet you are for me, how much you want me to push into you slow but still hard, just like you asked.”

Sam was right, you _did_ ask for that. The thought made you moan, and the intensely needy ache between your legs magnified. You _needed_ to come. “Sam, _please_.”

“Please _what_?” Kissing down your neck, Sam found that tiny patch of skin just below your collarbone. He knew from past experiences with you that if he kissed and nipped at that place just right, you’d make the best sounds.

When gave the spot a tiny suck, Sam felt your body start to shake under his, so he did it again and again, gradually adding a little teeth and pressure until you were chanting and gasping his name.

“Please _what_ , little girl,” Sam asked again, then nipped at your collarbone some more.

The only answer he got from you was heavy breathing laced with broken and breathy sobs.

“You gotta tell me what you want,” Sam urged you, wanting to hear it, wanting more than anything to give it to you. “There are dozens of things I could do to you, right now.” Sam gave your collarbone another suck, admired how he’d begun to leave a mark behind, then licked over the patch of skin. “I could make you come with my mouth. Put your legs over my shoulders, hold your hips down on the bed, and lick you so fucking slow.” He licked over the red-purple mark again.

“S-Sa-mmm,” you stuttered desperately. “I _can’t_.”

 _Do you need me to stop_ , sat on the very tip of Sam’s tongue, but before he said it, he realized that stopping was the last thing you wanted him to do.

His cock was just resting against your pussy. Sam wasn’t moving, wasn’t teasing you with anything but his mouth, but apparently after five days of your self-denial, combined with the last hour or so, Sam’s mouth was enough.

Part of him didn’t think that telling you all the dirty things he wanted to do you was enough to make you come, but if it was, Sam had to see it. He wanted to watch.

After clearing his throat and sliding up, so that his mouth was right next to your ear, Sam pressed a light kiss then dragged your lobe through his teeth. “I’ve kinda got this thing for your ass,” he groaned huskily even though he’d cleared his throat. “And ever since you told me I can spank you, it’s all I can think about.”

A flicker of your dream where Sam did that very thing, played in your mind. The urge to come was almost painfully overwhelming, but you willed yourself to listen to every word Sam said.

“Earlier, all I wanted to do was bend you over that table in the laundry room, spank your ass, and fuck you until you came all over my-”

“Sam, I-” You were right there; if Sam said _one more word_ , described one more scenario where he would make you come, you were actually going to.

Feeling how you twitched and throbbed under his aching cock, Sam knew exactly what you were going to say. Part of him still didn’t think it was possible, but apparently, you did. That was enough for Sam. He had to see it. “Come.”  

With all of Sam’s mental imagery, all his filthy phrases, it was just that one, simple word that made you orgasm so hard, you screamed.

Shocked and amazing and so fucking turned on that his cock felt like it was going to burst, Sam watched you come in total awe.

“Good girl,” he groaned and moved his hips with you as you rode out your orgasm on the underside of his cock. When he saw your entire body shudder mid-orgasm at his praise, he added, “ _My_ good little girl.”

As Sam praised you, he watched you, but before your orgasm ran its course, he reached down and sunk two fingers inside you. You gasped and widened your tremulous thighs for him, so he fucked you with his fingers, quick and hard, making your first orgasm roll into a second one.

As your body surged under his, Sam took his hand away, replaced it with his hips, and slowly slid inside you. Once he was there, your screams and sobs that were mostly broken parts of his name changed into soundless gasps, and Sam could feel your fluttering pussy clamp down on him in a way that made an involuntary shout rip from his chest.

Still, he kept his promise and thrust into you slowly, but still swiveled and snapped his hips hard against you. Sam could tell that the way his skin slapped into yours was extending your orgasm into a mind-numbing length of time, but when you wrapped your legs around his waist and tried to pull him deeper inside you, he knew it was exactly what you wanted.

Watching you, totally consumed by what he was seeing drove Sam wild. Still, he waited and let his own orgasm build, moving his hips in the exact way he learned would make you come. Wanting to see it, wanting to feel you come wrapped around his cock, Sam moved earnestly, and when you came for the third time, he let himself come right along with you. As he did, he felt you, heard your breathless cries, and then he saw white.

After, it took him a minute to find his bearings. His body was shaking from exertion and adrenaline, but he still carefully pushed himself up off you. Staying close, he got rid of the condom, then took your equally shaky body in his arms, and laid back down on the bed.

Feeling Sam’s warm arms wrapped around you, breathing his scent deep into your lungs grounded you, even though you felt like your body might never stop trembling and be still again.

When you heard him softly murmur your name, you could barely get a sound out. The sound must have been enough for Sam, because he kissed your lips, then your forehead, and snuggled in even closer to you. Knowing and feeling that he was right there with you was comforting and helped you start to catch your breath.

As you laid there with Sam, you had a thought: even though there were many things that needed to be discussed, you were his and he was yours. Because of that, Sam would always be right there, comforting you and helping you start to catch your breath again. You weren’t delusional; you knew that with Sam’s life there would always be necessary stipulations to the thought, but it still made you warm inside. It made you feel safe, and even though you could barely move, you stretched to return Sam’s light kiss.

-

After a little while, Sam carried you off to the shower. You could tell he was reluctant to take off your lace camisole, but since you couldn’t bathe with it on, you rolled your eyes at him and threw it across the room after you took it off yourself.

Laughing, Sam smacked your bare ass as you stepped behind the shower curtain.

Under the spray, there were more kisses and smiles than actual bathing, but the two of you managed to get cleaned up before the hot water ran out.

Feeling both energized from adrenaline and blissfully exhausted, you and Sam worked together to change the sheets, then climbed back into bed. Once there, the two of you stayed tangled together, resuming the same kisses and smiles that were shared in the shower.

You had no idea how long that went on, but eventually, you had to come up for air. You gave Sam’s chest a gentle push.

“I need to breathe,” you gasped and laughed, then sucked down your first real lungful of oxygen in what felt like days.

“Sorry,” Sam apologized half-heartedly and grinned at you. Even though you didn’t voice your mental monologue from before, he felt a lot of the same things you did and couldn’t get enough of it.

After packing some pillows behind his shoulders, Sam leaned back against the headboard, humming when you shifted with him and rested your head on his chest. Once you were settled, he carded his fingers through your wet hair until it was almost dry, mentally noting how much he liked doing the simple gesture and reminding himself to do it whenever he had the chance. After a little while longer, he moved his hand down and traced the slope of your naked back and waist, all while thinking about the discussion that both you and he said was needed.

Life, the job, and the road had never given Sam the opportunity to have anything even remotely resembling what he started to have with you. Of course, he’d never met a woman who knew and understood him and his life the way you did. Because of that, Sam wanted to do everything in such a way that was right for both him and you. That began with having an actual conversation about what you and he thought it meant for you to be his submissive and for him to be your Dominant.

“So, um…. What we talked about before….” Sam started, then mentally kicked himself for being so inarticulate.

You thought his inarticulateness was adorable. Keeping your head on his chest, you rolled over, so you could look up at him. “About how I’m yours.”

It wasn’t a question; you knew exactly what he was referring to.

Closing his eyes, Sam let the words echo in his brain. There was no way he could ever hear them enough.

Reaching up, he stroked your chin with his thumb. “I like when you say that.”

You smiled and kissed the tip of his thumb. “You like when I say _a lot_ of things.”

Sam smiled too, then kissed you. “Seems to me you like it when I say certain things too.”

“Mmm,” you hummed against his lips and remembered how just a while before, Sam made you come with not much more than his words. “Yeah. That was a first…coming like that.”

Intrigued, Sam leaned back against the headboard and took you with him. “A good first?”

You laughed a scoff. “Uh. _Yeah_.”

Letting his smile turn into a victorious smirk, Sam chuckled. “Good to know.” After going back to dragging his fingertips up and down your back for a while, he wondered, “Can I ask you something?”

You looked up at Sam. “Sure.”

“You don’t have to answer if you don’t want to.”

You crinkled your forehead at him. “Oo-kay.”

Sam kissed the crinkles, then took a deep breath. “So, before…the first time, I asked you if you’d ever done _this_ before. You said _yes_ , but it wasn’t the same. What did you mean by that?”

Mirroring Sam’s deep breath, you thought for a minute. “The easiest way to answer that question is, I said that, because I thought you and I were just a one-time thing. Since I’ve been hunting, there’ve been a few botched attempts that ended before they even started, but I’ve never really submitted to man that I’d just met.”

Your answer seemed simple enough to Sam, but then he realized what it implied. “So, the times that you’ve submitted, it was with men who you were in a relationship with?”

“To be clear, until now, there was only ever one guy, one relationship.”

“So, being a submissive isn’t new to you.”

“No.” You shook your head. “I mean, this…you…it’s different, but I suppose with different preferences, that’s normal.”

Agreeing, Sam nodded. “Can I ask another question?”

You laughed. “Sure.”

In one of the late-night talks that Sam had with you, both his and your past partners were briefly discussed. Sam assumed that one of the men you mentioned was _the_ one guy that you were referring to, but he was still curious. “Which one was it?”

“Really?” You laughed again. “You wanna go _there_?”

“Yeah.” Sam kissed your smile. “I mean, you don’t _have to_ tell me, but in case you haven’t noticed, I kind of have this need to try to find out everything I can about the things I’m interested in.”

Thinking back to all those nights where Sam would ask you dozens upon _dozens_ of questions, you gasped dramatically, “No way. Not you.” When he only grinned at you, but still managed to give you an irresistible version of the puppy dog-eyes, you caved. “The police officer.”

Sam remembered the night when you talked about him.

Name: Elliot.  
Nickname: Elsie.  
Age: Unknown. Older than you.  
Other information: Best friends since you were kids. 

You made it sound like he was more friend than lover, and as Sam recalled the all things that you said about the police officer, he became more curious. “Anything else?”

You knew what Sam was doing, and you teasingly glared at him for working you like a case. “Obviously, it didn’t work out.”

Getting the sense that you were so very done with the topic, Sam kissed your semi-faux frown. “Enough about the police officer.”

“Thank God,” you sighed and playfully rolled your eyes.

As you stayed curled up at his side, you mentally replayed Sam’s side of the “past partners” conversation. Neither he nor you went into extreme detail, but you knew that in the past he had a couple of serious relationships, a handful of one-time things, and a few one-weekend things. He told you which ones were vanilla and which ones weren’t, but much like you, Sam had a hard time finding compatibility on the road.

As if Sam knew what you were thinking about, he asked, “Do you have any questions for me?”

You smiled and shook your head. Sam might have skimped on the dirty details, but you got the gist. It was enough.

You whined softly when Sam stretched on the bed and reached down to the floor for his jacket, pulling a pen and a small, leather-covered notebook from the inside pocket. The small notebook looked a lot like the one you used when gathering information on cases you’d once worked.

Sam paged through the notebook until he found what he was looking for, but before he did anything else, he said, “I know you said you wanted this…to be my sub and for me to be your Dom, but sometimes people say that, and once the conversation is had, it’s not what either of them want. I _want_ this, but I only want it _if_ you want it too. If, ten minutes from now or at _any time_ , you decide that you don’t want this, all you have to do is tell me. It’s not going to change _anything_.”

After Sam spoke, he reached for you. Once your body was flush with his, he held you in his arms and kissed you so softly, whispering, “I want you and _nothing’s_ going to change that.”  

Feeling more comforted, safe, and cherished than you’d ever felt in your entire life, you nodded your head and smiled happily between Sam’s kisses. “I want you too.”

Sighing happily into your kisses, Sam cradled your face in his hands. He stroked your cheeks and jaw, touched your hair, then kissed you one last time before helping you settle yourself into the ‘V’ of his legs.

Once you were snuggled back against him, swaddled in soft blankets and Sam’s warmth, he placed the pen and open notebook in your lap. “This is just a generic list that I found online a while ago.”

Before you looked at the notebook, you grinned up at Sam. “How long ago is _a while ago_?”

“ _A while_.” Sam felt his cheeks flush hot as he shyly smiled back at you. “I just thought that if we ever found ourselves _here_ , we could go through this list together and talk about what we like and don’t like and write it down, so we know.”

Feeling comfortable with all his suggestions, you nodded your head. “Okay.”

“And whatever we write isn’t like a contract or anything,” Sam started, wanting to make things absolutely clear. “I’d just feel better if we had it all laid out. Just so there are no questions or…mistakes.” When you agreed, he added, “The first things I need to know are your boundaries and your expectations. Are you my sub only when we’re in bed? Or is it just when I’m here? Or do we want it to go into the time when we’re apart too?”

You thought for a minute and weighed your options. “I don’t want it to be just when we’re in bed. I liked the Bossy Plaid texts from before when you were four hours away.”

Sam smiled. “Me too.”

“But I’m not ready for a twenty-four-seven Dom/sub relationship, either.” You sighed at your indecisiveness. “Sorry. I know that’s not what you asked for.”

“It’s okay,” Sam promised. “We just have to figure out where it stops and starts when we’re not together.”

“Well, a text from you saying, _Sorry, babe. I’m digging up a grave. Can’t Dom right now_ , would probably make it clear. And one from me saying, _Larry’s in the room,_ would get the message across.”

Sam couldn’t disagree, but he did scowl when you mentioned Larry. When you laughed at him, his scowl turned into a smile.

The exact boundaries still weren’t clearly defined, but he had a good idea where they were, and you seemed to understand where his were. It was a good start.

Looking back at the list, you quickly skimmed it and saw that everything Sam said and wrote was well thought out. He was working earnestly to be respectful, clear and concise all while still making you feel comfortable and safe. In your experience, all those things were needed when adding a Dom/sub dynamic into a relationship, but having it come from Sam, seeing the warmth in his eyes, and hearing the tenderness in his voice, made that moment better than anything you could have ever imagined.

Once Sam said what he needed to say, he found that he wasn’t inarticulate in the slightest. He wasn’t nervous and didn’t feel awkward, and if your body language and the way you spoke your thoughts and listened to his were any indication, you didn’t feel awkward or nervous either.

Of course, as Sam and you went through the list there were flushed hot cheeks, eager smiles, and low groans, but there was never any embarrassment. There was patience when someone had a question, and answers were given thoughtfully.

The list started at anal and went all the way to watersports – _curious_ and _no_. Halfway through there was a large length of time spent discussing _following_ directions – ie. being told to put your hands above your head, or touch yourself, or not to come – and what would happen if you didn’t follow the directions given.

It was obvious Sam didn’t overly enjoy the thought of punishing you, and instead of listing off his own ideas and leaving it that, he made sure each punishment was something you were comfortable with.

After things were discussed at length but still agreed upon, Sam wrote it all down in the notebook while you watched him, teasing, “I don’t like you anymore.”

Sam reached to kiss you. “Yes, you do.”

After that, going through the list together had taken some time, but once every kink had been thoroughly discussed, edited, or written off the list entirely, you and Sam started to talk about things that weren’t on the list.

Twisting a piece of your hair between his first and middle finger, he wondered, “Just to be clear on the bondage, you said no metal. So, no spreader bars or handcuffs.”

You looked up at him, grinning. “If you can find a spreader bar with leather cuffs, it’s a yes.” You laughed when Sam wrote down _leather cuffed spreader bar_ , then asked, “Do you _have_ handcuffs?”

Sam shrugged, but you saw the corner of his mouth twitch. “Maybe.”

You rolled your eyes. Dumb question. _Of course_ , Sam had handcuffs; he was a hunter. “You have to dress up as a Fed sometimes, right?”

Very intrigued, Sam eagerly nodded his head. “Yeah. Why?”

It was your turn to have the corner of your mouth twitch. “Then, I’m sure you also have plenty of neck ties.”

Laughing, Sam made a note. “Ties. Got it. Anything else?”

“Leather. Anything soft. Nothing that leaves marks.”

Sam added that to the list too. “So, no marking.”

“I never said that,” you answered as you ran your thumb over the small, mouth-shaped bruise on your collar bone. You really, _really_ liked it. “How about _inconspicuous marking_?”

With a happy grin on his face, Sam made another addition to the list, but nearly dropped the pen when you asked, “What about impact play?”

Sam’s brain shorted out. Yes, he thought about bending you over the folding table in the laundry room and spanking your ass until it and the palm of his hand were pleasantly warm and red, but he never thought about trading his hand out for a paddle or crop. Once he did, he couldn’t stop, and he unsuccessfully tried to swallow a groan.

Of course, you heard the sound and felt it reverberate from his chest to your back all the way to the tips of your toes and everywhere in between. “That a _yes_?”

“If it’s something you want, it’s a _yes_ from me.”

A little confused by his answer, you reminded him, “If it’s not your thing, you can say _no_.”

Sam thought for a minute, then answered, “I don’t know if it’s _my thing_. Sure, I like the power exchange, but I wouldn’t get off just from flogging you. I’d get off _watching_ you like it, and that’s true to most everything.”

“Oh,” you breathed softly, feeling wonderfully dizzy.

Craning his neck, Sam pressed a soft kiss onto your lips. “Want me to write it down?”

“Yes.”

Once he wrote the two words on the paper, he asked, “Implements?”

Since Sam used flogger as an example, you said, “Flogger virgin, but yes.”

Sam hummed low and kissed the side of your head as he wrote.

“Paddle. Crop. No canes, whips, or straps.”

Making the notation, Sam nodded. “Got it.”

After that, there was an easy back and forth volley between you and Sam.

“Where can I spank you?”

“Anywhere but my feet and face.”

“So, no face-slapping?”

“Very light face-slapping,” you clarified.

“Hair pulling?”

“Yes.”

“Wax or ice play?”

“Yes and yes.”

“Deep-throating?”

“Yes, but I might need some practice.”

Sam grinned wide. “I might be willing to help you out with that.”

“I’m sure you would be.” You kissed his grin.

“Breath play?”

“Light.”

“Electrostimulation?”

“No.”

“Public sex?”

“Yes. Discretely.”

“Discretely,” Sam agreed. “Pain play?”

“No.”

“Phone sex?”

“Yes.”

It didn’t take very long for Sam to fill up more than a handful of pages in his notebook. There were more questions, more answers, and more pages filled, then Sam wondered, “Lingerie?”

As you smiled wide, you knew exactly what he meant, but still decided to tease. “You or me?”

Sam threw his head back and laughed. “You.”

You laughed too. “Yes.”

A little later, all the tiny pages in Sam’s leather-covered notebook were filled, and you and he were out of your minds with want.

You were kneeling around the tops of his thighs with your stomach giving the softest pressure to the underside of his cock. Sam just couldn’t stop kissing you, but before anything went any further, he stopped.

Holding your face in his hands, he breathlessly told you, “I know we didn’t get to talk about everything. We will; I promise we will.”

You trusted Sam. He meant what he said. “I know we will.”

“And at some point in the _very_ near future, we’re coming back to the part where you said you were _curious_ about anal.”

Your already rosy cheeks flushed harder, but you always knew there was no way Sam was going to let that go unaddressed.  “I’ve never done it before, but I wouldn’t say _no_ because I don’t know if I don’t like it.”  

“Yeah.” Sam groaned. “We are _definitely_ coming back to that.”

Wanting to subtly tell him what you wanted without being too pushy, you answered his non-question with, “Yes, Sam.”

Sam got your message loud and clear. “Well, little girl, I’ve got a whole list of things I can do now. But where do I start?”

You lightly stroked your fingertips up and down his down his shoulders and chest. “I don’t know, Sam.”

“I think you do, little girl.” Nearly the whole time that you were straddling his upper thighs, you were either staring at his chest or lightly touching it, so he pointed to the skin just below his collarbone. “Why don’t you start here?”

You did exactly what you were told, and Sam watched every cock-throbbing second of it. He groaned while you mouthed around his collarbone and worked to make a bruise identical to the one that he left behind on your skin.

When you looked up at him and silently asked if you could move on, Sam nodded his head. “Good girl.”

He gasped when you licked and dragged your teeth over his nipples, and hummed at his view when he watched you kiss down stomach. He petted your hair when you paid special attention to his hipbones, but before you sucked his cock into your mouth, he grabbed a gentle handful of your hair and stopped you. He raised your head, so that you were looking up at him. “Good little girls _ask_ for what they want.”

“Sam,” you panted and licked your bottom lip, wishing it was the pearlescent bead of pre-come that just started to slide down his cock. “Can I please blow you?”

“Good manners, little girl, but of all the things you just told me we can do, the first thing you want is to blow me?”

“I always want to blow you, Sam.”

“Jesus Christ,” Sam cursed under his breath. “Tell me how bad you want it.”

“ _Really_ bad, Sam.”

“I think you can do better than that,” Sam chuckled low. Still holding your hair with his left hand, he started to slowly stroke himself with his right. “Beg for it, and I’ll let you have it.”

Looking Sam directly in the eyes, you did what you were told. “Please, Sam let me blow you. Want your big fucking cock in my mouth. Wanna taste it when you come. Please, Sam _let me_.”

Sam quickly squeezed the base of his cock tightly in his fist as he swore again, and you waited eagerly for his response.

A long moment passed before he finally took his hand away. You moaned when Sam used his fistful of your hair to guide your face back down. His cock was just centimeters away from your lips, but you didn’t lick it into your mouth. You wanted to be good. You waited.

“ _Very_ good, little girl,” Sam gritted out sandpaper rough and silky smooth all at the same time. “Go slow. You’ll make me come when I say you can.”

 


	10. Tell Me the Things You Couldn't Before

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Early on in your relationship with Sam, you and he spent hours upon hours telling each other everything, but as time went on, you realized there were still things he didn't tell you. 
> 
> This caused a problem and led to the first argument between you and Sam.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta'd by the _beyond_ fab, ladyataralasse. 
> 
> Chapter title comes from One Republic's _Let's Hurt Tonight_ and can be enjoyed [HERE](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=8wGN7D03Nho)  
>     
>  _Oh, I know you're feeling insane_  
>  _Tell me something that I can explain_  
>  _I'll hit the lights and you lock the doors_  
>  _Tell me all of the things that you couldn't before_  
>  _Don't walk away, don't roll your eyes_  
>  _They say love is pain, well darling, let's hurt tonight_
> 
> Find me on Tumblr: [HERE](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/)

With Sam’s life, time away from you was inevitable – there were still things that had to be hunted and people who needed saving – but when those cases were worked, Sam would go back to the bunker. He’d usually unpack and shower away the road, and if there wasn’t another case on the docket, he’d go to see you. However, sometimes the days would turn into weeks, and the miles would stretch into states before he got back to the bunker. When that happened, Sam’s bags would stay packed, carelessly left on his bedroom floor, and he’d go directly to your motel room.

And that’s exactly what Sam did after a week and half long hunt.

Showering with you was high up on the list of the many, _many_ things Sam liked to do with you. He liked feeling _you_ wash away the road. He liked having _your_ soap-covered hands slide over his shoulders and chest and make him clean. He liked the closeness, the steam, the scent of your soap, and how, as you washed him, your lips followed your hands. You kissed every inch of skin you touched, and when you finally reached his mouth, Sam was so turned on, he felt like he was vibrating.

Turning his back to the spray, Sam pressed you against the far shower wall and kissed you. He moved his mouth and tongue with yours and gave you all the kisses he couldn’t while he was gone. Wanting more of the things he couldn’t have during his time away, he pushed one of his knees between your thighs and felt your warm wetness there. So sensitive, you gasped at his touch. When Sam heard the sound, he knew there were things you didn’t have while he was away too.

Not wasting any time, he gave you what you wanted and brought his right hand down between your thighs too, and when he pushed two fingers inside you, your body molded to his. Sam loved that, loved how you went pliant in his hands and arched into each of his touches, begging him for more. Enjoying the sounds that he coaxed out of you and how his name fell so desperately from your lips, he lightly kissed the corners of your mouth and tasted your needy pleas. He could have stayed like that and watched you for hours, but the hotel’s hot water supply didn’t have the same stamina as Sam.

Once he got you out from under the cooling water, he only put you down long enough to find and roll on a condom. Then you were back in his arms, pressed against the bathroom wall, and Sam was deep inside you before the condom wrapper had the chance to flutter down to the floor.

On that day, everything was fast and hard. Sam held your shower-wet hips tight in his hands as he pounded into you. You clung to him with your arms wrapped around his neck, holding onto fistfuls of his dripping hair.

Sharing the same gaze, breathing in the same air, and feeling the same white-knuckle grip, you and Sam went higher and higher, until there was no place else to go. You came first, crying out his name and squeezing him so perfectly that he was helpless to follow you. As he did, a chest-deep shout ripped itself from his throat, but Sam found your mouth a second later, tasting your moans on his tongue and sharing his with you.

The floor was the next logical place to go. Sam possessed the ability to sprint after monsters and had an endurance that he was fairly proud of, but shower-wet, wall sex at a hard and fast pace made the rumpled towels on the floor look very appealing.

He took you with him, got rid of the condom, and smiled breathlessly when you tucked your face under his jaw. Holding you tightly, he murmured, “I missed you.”

You chuckled at how he could swap from _Imma-fuck-you-up-against-the-wall_ Sam Winchester to _Cuddle-with-me_ Sam Winchester. “I missed you too.”

You kissed his hand when he brought it up to your cheek, but grabbed it before he could take it away. There was a good-sized bruise on his forearm with a fresh scab in the middle. You saw it when you washed him, but didn’t say anything at the time. “Are you okay?”

“Yeah,” Sam promised and watched you press a gentle kiss onto the scab. Your lips were just a feather-light brush, and though the bruise and healing skin didn’t really hurt, your soft touch made it feel better. He felt like the luckiest guy in the word. “Just case stuff.”

When you and Sam first got together, he promised that he’d never lie to you, but also told you that with the kind of life he lived, there would be things that he couldn’t tell you. Of course, since you were a hunter who was on an extended sabbatical, you knew how the job worked, but over the months, you noticed that even when you asked Sam, he didn’t really talk about the cases he worked. You decided to try again. “Wanna talk about it?”

Smiling at your kindness, Sam shook his head; there really wasn’t anything to talk about. He and Dean found the monster, ganked it, and after a lot of highway, Sam was back with you. He didn’t see a reason to waste what precious time he had with you talking about hunts.

He watched your mouth fall into a flat line like he knew his often did when he kept his thoughts about Larry to himself. For a second, Sam wondered what thoughts you were keeping to yourself, but then you nestled back against his chest. The closeness and your warmth made Sam promptly forget about the look on your face.

-

Later, when Sam was with you in your bed, he stared up at your ceiling, completely content. He ran his fingers through your hair over and over again, enjoying the way it felt, the way you felt, and the way _he_ felt. Sam was happy.

When your hand slid over his side, he reached for it and twisted his fingers with yours. “I thought you were sleeping?”

He felt you shake your head, then heard you quietly whisper, “Can I ask you something?”

Without missing a beat, Sam answered, “Baby, of course you can,” but as he said the words, a feeling of anxiety tried to bloom in his stomach. Remembering that you already knew all the least favorite things about himself, he tried to push the feeling away, but when he reached to turn on a lamp and saw the look on your face, that feeling of anxiety fully bloomed. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” you answered, then saw the unconvinced look on Sam’s face. “Nothing’s _wrong_ , I swear. I just….” You sighed. “There’s something that’s been bugging me.”

“Okay.” Sam took a breath. The anxiety in his stomach was growing by the second. “What did you want to ask me?”

Taking his hand in yours, you lightly stroked your fingertips over the bruise and scab on Sam’s arm. “When I asked you about _this_ , you wouldn’t tell me. You _never_ tell me.”

“Just case stuff,” Sam promised as he watched you trace the outline of the darkened patch of skin on his arm, careful not to hurt him. “Didn’t quite work out as planned.”

As Sam watched your mouth make the same flat line that he saw in the bathroom, something told that him he wasn’t going to be able to forget about your expression as easily as he did the first time and that your question wasn’t the only one you had.

Sam didn’t say it aloud, but he was right. “Why don’t we ever go to your house?”

He knew it was a reasonable question and always knew you would eventually ask it, but his mouth still fell open in shock. “What?”

“We’ve been together for three, almost four months. We go out to eat. We hang out here, sleep in _my_ bed, watch _my_ TV, but we never go to your house. Why?” You let out a deep breath, relieved that the question was finally out there. You felt stupid for letting so much time go by before you asked him. It’s not that you were scared or afraid to ask Sam, you just didn’t have any idea _how_ to ask.

“My house?” Sam repeated your question, buying himself some time to think about how he should answer it. _It’s not even a house. It’s a bunker, and not too long ago, Dean and I kept The King of Hell prisoner in our dungeon. Yes, we have a dungeon, and yes, I know the King of Hell._ “I really don’t think that’s a good idea.”

“Why?” You looked at Sam, surprised by his vague answer. He was never vague when you asked him things. “Is it because you live with Dean?”

Sam shook his head. “No. I mean, I do live with him, but he’s not why.”

You frowned at his continued vagueness. “I get that he isn’t my biggest fan, but I thought when he called me-”

“It isn’t Dean,” Sam repeated and almost started to go on about how his brother had actually been encouraging him to spend time with you, but stopped before he started. You didn’t look convinced, in fact, you were starting to look irritated. “I swear, it’s not Dean, but where I live- It’s not a _normal_ house…it’s more like….”

“It’s two guys living in one place. There’s probably dirty socks on the floor and moldy food in the fridge. I live in a shitty motel.” Frustrated, you waved your hand toward the water stains by the window and the exposed, ancient pipes in your kitchenette’s ceiling. “What’s the difference?”

Because Sam had years of experience in leading a conversation in the direction _he_ wanted it to go and because it was habit, he told you, “Your motel’s not shitty. I like your room. I like your bed.” He leaned closer to you and nuzzled your neck. “I like _you_ _in_ your-”

You pushed Sam away. You were frustrated at his constant lack of answers, but instantly became pissed at the way he tried to change the subject. “ _Really_?!”

Knowing that there was no way he could talk you in circles and feeling ashamed that he even tried, Sam apologized, “Sorry.” Then, he sat up, took a breath, and decided to be honest. “Where I live, it’s not safe, and I don’t want you there.”

It was your turn for your mouth to fall open, but you felt a different kind of shock than Sam. “ _You_ _don’t want me there_?”

“That’s _not_ what I meant,” Sam said quickly when saw that hurt on your face. He tried to reach for you, but you jumped up off the bed and started to rummage through your dresser drawers.

As you angrily pulled on a shirt, you yelled, “You’re friggin’ Sam Winchester! One of the best hunters I’ve ever heard about, and you expect me to believe that where you live isn’t _safe_?!”

“Just wait a sec-”

“Why isn’t it safe?”

Dozens of reasons ran through Sam’s head, and while they were legitimate reasons, he was so flustered, he couldn’t turn those reasons into words. “It just isn’t.”

Putting your anger, desperation, and confusion all in one look, you stared at Sam. “But _why_?!”

Frustrated with himself and how one simple question turned into you looking at him the way you were. You were desperate for answers, and he just couldn’t find the words to give them to you. Sam wanted to keep you safe, wanted to shield you from rogue angels and vicious demons and monsters coming from every direction all at the same time. Those sorts of things didn’t follow Sam to your motel room; by some miracle, he was able to leave them all behind and just be with you. He tried to keep that part of his life separate from you, but it was all starting to come together, and in not the way he wanted it to. It scared the shit out of him.

He anxiously ran his fingers through his hair. He tried to calm down. He tried to stop his heart from hammering in his chest and tried to push away the cold and heavy anxiety in his belly, but he couldn’t.

Sam’s silence hurt you, which, in turn, pissed you off. You yelled, “You’re really not going to answer me?! I’ve answered _every_ _single question_ you’ve ever asked me, and you won’t even tell me where you-”

“Jesus, _____!” Sam barked, finally snapping under the pressure that he was putting on himself. “When I say it’s not safe, I mean it’s not fucking safe! End of discussion!”

You never heard Sam yell before. Shocked at his sudden totalitarianism, you stopped for a minute and just gaped at him. You were totally stunned, but after your brain processed what had happened – Sam yelled at you – you were absolutely livid. You furiously pulled on a pair of jeans. “You _do_ _not_ get to talk to me like that.”

A second after the words flew out of his mouth, Sam wished he could take them back. They were reminiscent of the orders his dad used to give him when he was young, and Sam could tell you hated them just as much as he did.

“Dammit.” He rubbed his forehead, so disappointed in himself. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean-” Sam stopped when he saw you angrily shrug on your jacket, then shove your feet into your shoes. His stomach grew cold and then sank when you stomped off toward the door, then opened it. “What are you doing?”

Looking at Sam like he had asked you the most ridiculous question in the world, you yelled, “Storming out!”

“But _you_ live here!”

The irony of Sam’s statement made you so furious that you couldn’t say a word, but he understood the look on your face perfectly. Sam was standing in the place that you lived in, and when you asked him where he lived, he specifically told you that he didn’t want you there. It didn’t matter that he didn’t mean it like _that_ or that he had his reasons; you didn’t know them. How could you? Sam didn’t even _try_ to explain them to you. He yelled at you…loudly, but you slammed the door even louder.

Sam flinched when the privacy lock bounced off the door frame.

-

So pissed off that you could hardly breathe, you made your way around to the back of the motel and sat on the edge of the empty, outdoor pool, waggling your feet down into the nothing. It was the first fight that you and Sam had. At first, you were frustrated and mad because you didn’t understand. Then, Sam yelled at you. You were livid.

“End of discussion,” you hissed Sam’s words angrily under your breath.

Flushed and hot with fury, you took off your shoes and jacket and rested back on the cool cement. It and the night air were cold. You imagined steam coming off your body.

You stayed like that for over an hour, breathing in air and trying to get the angry vein to stop protruding from your forehead. As you looked up at the dark sky, you remembered how your hunter-mentor, Irv, used to get the same angry vein.

When you and Tracy first went on the road with Irv, he always made you and your sister just observe. You watched while he and the other hunters did research and made their plans of attack. But sometimes when the hunts were more dire and there weren’t enough hunters to go around, you were tasked with finding a book or piece of lore.

One time, you had to go to a church for a book. Irv had written the title down on a small piece of paper and gave it to you with explicit verbal instructions to get the book and come right back to the motel room. You did what you were told and held the scrap of paper tightly in your hand as you made your way up the church’s stairs, but the second you walked through the doors, instincts you didn’t even know you had perked up. Curiosity made you investigate.

Defying Irv’s direct order, you traded out the piece of paper for your flask of holy water and Colt Pony. You searched through the sanctuary and back offices, but found nothing out of the ordinary. However, on you way back through the chapel, a gust of air that seemed to come from nowhere extinguished a table full of candles. The room was freezing. You could see your breath, but a second later, you saw black.

When you came to, the first thing you saw was Irv and three other hunters shooting off salt rounds and waiving around iron fireplace pokers at the translucent and _very_ vengeful priest hovering over them. Terrified, you hid between two pews and watched helplessly until it was over.

After the spirit was properly taken care of, Irv drove you straight back to the motel room. He was quiet for the first minute or so, but like he couldn’t keep it inside any longer, he snapped.

For ten straight miles, Irv yelled about how you weren’t ready to hunt and about how you didn’t know what you were doing. He called you foolish and careless and even yelled at himself for sending you on the errand in the first place. He ended his rant by telling you that you were on laundry detail for a month and other than that, you weren’t allowed to leave the motel room. Appalled, you opened your mouth to argue and protest, but Irv silenced you with one stern look and that angry vein in his forehead.

At the time, you were outraged, but later, you realized why Irv reacted the way he did. He loved you like the daughter he never had, and seeing you in a situation that you weren’t ready for, petrified him. You were untrained, and you could have easily been killed. All Irv ever wanted to do was keep you safe.

That one random memory made you understand Sam’s reaction. Yes, it was a shitty reaction. You were still pissed, but you understood it.

Sam said that his house wasn’t safe, but curiosity still made you wonder, _why_?

Did the place where Sam lived have something to do with hunting? And if it did, how?

Maybe he lived with other hunters? If he did, all he had to do was say something, and you would have understood. Your motel room was private.

Were he and Dean squatting? Before you came to live at the motel, you and Tracy squatted in abandoned houses many times. All hunters did it.

Lebanon wasn’t that big, and you knew there were plenty of empty farm buildings on the outskirts of town that would be the perfect place to squat. The times would add up; it always took Sam less than fifteen minutes to get to your motel room when he called and said he was on his way.

Squatting made the most sense, but six months had gone by since the very first time you saw Sam. Squatting for at least six months did _not_ make sense.

You sighed and crossed squatting and living with other hunters off your mental list. Neither scenario even came close to explaining why Sam thought where ever he lived wasn’t safe.

Maybe Sam was like Batman and had a super-secret lair? The Impala was black….

The silly idea made you giggle up at the dark sky, then you saw Sam. Even upside down, you could tell he was trying to make himself look small. “Can I sit down?”

After looking at him for a few seconds, you sat up and answered dryly, “Yeah.”

Sam sat down next to you and looked down at the empty and dirty swimming pool. “You’re right. I _don’t_ get to talk to you like that, and I’m so sorry.”

Even out of the corner of your eye, you could see how remorseful he was, but you were still pissed. “Are you gonna tell me?”

Sam knew that your one question was really two. The entire hour that you were gone, he rehearsed different ways to answer them, but in the end, he decided to start at the beginning: how he got hurt. “It was a werewolf. Dean and I thought there was just one, but at the last second there were three. We were in the woods. One came at me. I jumped out of the way, but when I went down, I hit a rock on the ground. That’s how I hurt my arm.”

You slowly looked over at Sam and the bruise. It looked like it got darker over the last hour. “Why didn’t you want to tell me?”

“My time with you…there’s not a lot of it. I know it can’t be helped, and I know you get it, but I wanted to keep you and what we have separate from bloody werewolf hunts. I wanted something that was just mine… _ours_.” Sam sighed. “I wanted something that _out there_ couldn’t touch.”

Before that moment, you’d forgotten how a hunter’s life could swallow a them whole if they let it. You’d forgotten how hunters hung on to any sliver of _normal_ they could get their hands on, _if_ they were lucky enough to get their hands on it. You echoed Sam’s sigh. “Why didn’t you just say that?”

“’Cause it’s selfish, and I knew it was.”

“Wanting that isn’t selfish, but not giving me a choice is a dick move.”

Knowing you were right, Sam nodded his head. “So, you want to know?”

“It’s _you_. Of course, I want to know. Especially if you get hurt. If I was hunting again, and _I_ got hurt three states away from you, I’m sure you’d want to know.”

Just thinking about the possibility of you getting hurt made Sam sick to his stomach. He knew that you were taking an undetermined amount of time away from hunting, but he couldn’t even imagine how he’d deal with you being on a hunt, three states from him. Sam knew the thought wasn’t fair, but the fear still made his stomach hurt. Then, he realized that during all the times he was away from you, _you_ must have felt that nauseatingly fearful feeling too. Knowing that made Sam feel even worse.

Part of him wanted to ask if you hunting, three states away from him was a possibility, but he decided to wait for another time and answer your question, “Yes, if you got hurt, I’d want to know.” 

“And what if our situations were switched, and for some ridiculously vague reason _you_ couldn’t know where I live?”

“I would have reacted the same way you did.”

“Then why won’t you tell me?”

Sam took a deep breath and started from the beginning. “Remember when I told you about my grandpa?”

“Henry.” You nodded, remembering the story. “Did he _really_ time travel?”

Laughing softly, Sam answered, “Yeah. We kind of inherited the place from him.”

“You said he wasn’t a hunter, but he knew about everything. So, why did he give his grandkids a house that isn’t safe?”

Turning toward you, Sam took your hands in his. “Where Dean and I live, it’s not a house. It’s a…bunker.”

“A _bunker_ ,” you repeated incredulously, but when you could tell that Sam was telling the truth, your skepticism changed to confusion and maybe a little curiosity. “Like from World War Two?”

“No. Well, kind of. It’s old, but different than that. We’ve got vaults and archives filled with ancient scrolls and supernatural artifacts and relics. There are even portals to other worlds.”

Time travel _and_ portals? During the years that you hunted, you heard talk of such things, but never saw any actual evidence that they were real.

When Sam saw the look on your face, he knew exactly what you were thinking. He nodded his head. “Yeah. _Portals_. Well, only one for sure.”

Pushing your immediate curiosity side, you took a moment to digest all the things Sam told you and mentally put all the facts and details in order. “So, you live in a vintage bunker, where, over the years, people have stored and chronicled all kinds of crap about what’s really out there?”

“Yeah.” Sam laughed softly and knew he shouldn’t have been surprised at how you put everything together. “That’s _exactly_ what it is.”

“Then you’ve got to have it under lock and key, covered or cloaked with some major sigils and spells. It’s gotta be the safest place on Earth.”

Reluctantly, Sam admitted, “It is.”

Frowning at him, you ripped your hands away from his and stood up from the edge of the pool. “Then why did you keep telling me it _isn’t safe_?!”

Sam jumped up from where he was sitting and clarified, “It’s not safe _for you_.”

Glaring at him, you shouted, “And I couldn’t have decided that for myself?! I’m not some stupid civilian who doesn’t know anything! I’ve kept myself safe for a very long time!”

When you tried to walk away from him, Sam gently but firmly grabbed you by the shoulders and looked you square in the eyes. The things he knew he had to tell you made him feel out of control, but that didn’t mean he had to act like it. He kept his voice calm. “Do you know what demons or God only knows what else would do to get their hands on the things we have? What they could _and_ _would_ do to you just to find out where the bunker is?”

During the years that you hunted, you came across more monsters than demons, but that didn’t mean you were unfamiliar with them. One demon in particular, never left your mind or your nightmares. You watched that demon slaughter your parents just for fun. It wasn’t hard to imagine what an interrogation would look like, and if the expression on Sam’s face was any indication, he didn’t have a hard time imagining it either.

Sam was scared, just like how Irv was scared that day the ghost appeared in the church and knocked you unconscious.

You understood what Sam was feeling, but you continued to glare at him. “You could have just _told me_ instead of barking at me like a damn drill sergeant.”

He sighed. “You’re right, and I’m sorry. It won’t happen again.”

Sam watched you nod your head. He knew you understood his reasoning, but could tell you were still pissed at him for yelling at you. Another apology sat on the tip of his tongue, but before he said it, an idea popped into his head. “Wanna go for a ride?”

Sam was right; you _were_ still pissed. You crossed your arms over your chest. “Why?”

“I want to show you something.” Sam held out his hand for you.

Eventually, you took it.

-

Once the motel was in the Impala’s rearview mirror, you looked over at Sam. “Where are you taking me?”

“I don’t know yet.”

“You want to show me something, but you don’t know where it is?”

“I’ll know when I see it,” he promised and rested his right arm on the back of the seat, making room for you to sit next to him if you wanted to.

It took an hour for you to accept his silent invitation.

-

As Sam drove, you watched the highway signs and unsuccessfully tried to find something familiar. Just when you really started to wonder where he was bringing you, Sam turned onto a road that looked like it hadn’t been used in at least a decade. He slowly drove past an ancient-looking sign that read, _Private Property_ , stopped nearly a half-mile after that, parking in a wooded area.

As Sam helped you out of the driver’s side door, you wondered, “ _This_ is where you’re taking me?”

Only nodding his head, Sam led you inside the backseat of the Impala and closed the door behind himself.

“Did you drive us all the way back to high school?”

“God, no,” Sam scoffed, but smiled as he situated himself in the small space.

Once you and he got comfortable, you watched Sam take a deep breath, then he told you, “I know you want to know where I live. I don’t think it’s safe to tell you or for you to be there. I know that’s not fair, and I know you don’t like it. So, this, _for_ _now_ ,” he nodded to the Impala’s interior, “is the next best thing.”

You looked at the interior too, but you were still confused. You had been inside the car several times. It was nice; it smelled like boys and gunpowder, but it was still nice. “I get why you can’t tell me, I really do, but what I don’t get….” You looked around the backseat again. “Sam, this is _a car_.”

“It is.” Sam took one of your hands in his and ran your palm over the back of the seat. “It happened more when I was a kid, but sometimes, when Dean and I are strapped for cash or too tired to drive, we’ll stop in a place just like this and sleep in the car. Dean sleeps in the front, and I sleep in the back…right here.”

You watched Sam continue to slide your hand over the soft leather. You felt the coarse stitching and soft creases from wear, and you started to get what Sam was trying to show you. “So, this is kind of like your bedroom.”

“Kind of.” Sam reached for your other hand, gently twisted it behind your back, and put your fingers on something you thought might have been made of hard plastic and was pointy in some places. You turned around to see what you were touching and saw an army man shoved inside the ashtray on the door. You had no idea why it was there, but it still made you smile.

When Sam saw the look on your face, he took your hands away from the seat and the army man and laced his fingers with yours. He leaned you back against the door and kissed up your jaw to the corner of your mouth. “Where I live…. Yes, I live there, but this car….” He softly kissed you. “This car has been more like my home and is safer than any place else.”

After listening to Sam, you took one of your hands away from his, touched the smooth leather again, and felt the place where he sometimes slept. He said that the car was like his home, said it was a place where he felt safe more than any other, and he wanted to share it with you.

It wasn’t his bed, wasn’t his mysterious bunker, but when Sam whispered, “Someday. I swear it,” you knew he meant it.


	11. Have You Ever Seen the Rain Coming Down on a Sunny Day?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Before the night you and Sam had your first fight, he never once thought about properly introducing you to the Impala. He honestly never thought that someone else could understand what it meant to him, but as Sam showed you many of the things that made the Impala home, he could tell you understood. Seeing that changed something inside Sam, changed the way he felt about you. It turned into something more, something he hadn't let himself feel in a very long time. 
> 
> For weeks, three small yet meaningful words sat on the tip of Sam's tongue, and at almost the exact same time he got the courage to say them aloud, you excitedly announced that you were going to Wyoming to spend time with your sister, Tracy. 
> 
> Sam's stomach dropped. 
> 
> The entire time that you and he were together, you never once left Lebanon.

The backseat of the car wasn’t Sam’s house or his mysterious bunker, but as you listened to his words and looked at the things he showed you, you realized that the Impala was more than either of those things. _It was home_.

You felt privileged to know that, to see it, and to be there. Being inside the Impala and knowing what you did about it made you feel like you were getting a glimpse behind the curtain, seeing something that not many had seen before. And it wasn’t just a glimpse behind the Winchester curtain – though it most certainly was that – it was seeing something behind Sam’s curtain. You learned something else about him, something about the man he was when he was away from you.

Of course, there was still the part of you that wanted to see where Sam lived, where he slept, drank his coffee that didn’t come from your mismatched, motel coffee mugs, and where he showered when he wasn’t with you. Knowing that Sam’s bunker had supernatural relics, scrolls, and portals didn’t help with your curiosity either. However, you understood why Sam couldn’t give you what you wanted. He just wanted it to be safe, and he promised that once he figured out how to do that, he’d tell you and show you all the things you wanted to know. He promised that someday he’d bring you to his bunker.

It wasn’t the promise that you wanted, but of all the parts of Sam you did know, you knew he meant what he said. His promise was enough.

For a few hours, you and Sam sat in the backseat of the Impala just enjoying each other’s company. It was a comfortable silence laced with light kisses and soft touches. Eventually, because it really was such a comfortable silence, you and Sam fell asleep.

It was still dark when you felt him scoop you up and carry you into the front seat.

“But I wanna sleep here,” you slurred through a yawn.

Sam chuckled softly at your adorable sleepiness. “You want to sleep in the car?”

You nodded. “Mmm hmm.”

“Next time,” Sam promised. He wrapped his jacket around you, then pulled you close. “Pillows and blankets make it better.”

“ _You_ make a pretty good pillow.”

Smiling as he kissed the corner of your yawning mouth, Sam murmured, “Go back to sleep. I’ll wake you up when we get to your motel room.”

When you nodded, he kissed the top of your head, then drove out of the wooded area and back out onto the highway.

Lost in that place between sleep and awake, you sat with Sam’s arm wrapped around you. With your head on his chest, you listened to his heartbeat. It almost lulled you to sleep, but you couldn’t stop thinking about how Sam’s safe place made you feel safe too. Sure, when he was around you _always_ felt safe, but being in the one place that Sam called his home made you feel even more protected.

As you tossed the thought around in your head, another came to mind. Knowing it was important and that it needed to be written down, you reached into the inside pocket of Sam’s jacket, found the pen and the small, leather-covered notebook that he kept in there, and pulled them out.

“What’re you doing?” Sam wondered as he turned on the dome light.

“Thought of something,” you answered, then started to write your thought down.

Keeping one eye on the road, Sam watched you add two words to the long list of kinks and limits that you and he written down.

_Safeword: Impala_

“I know we used it the first time, but it seems more fitting, now.” You looked up at Sam. “Don’t you think?”

Before that night, it never occurred to Sam to properly introduce you to the Impala. He honestly never thought someone else would truly understand what it meant to him, but as you looked up at him, Sam knew you got it.

Initially, _Impala_ was just a safeword that you thought of on the fly, because it was the car that Sam drove. Then, Sam showed you what the Impala really meant to him, and you wanted to use it as the safeword because, to him – and now to you – _Impala_ was literally synonymous with _safe_.

Sam nodded his head and stole a kiss. “It’s perfect.”

And it was.

After you tucked the notebook back into his pocket, you nestled back into Sam’s side and closed your eyes. Warm, safe, and content, it took you just a minute to fall asleep.

-

With you at asleep at his side, Sam continued to follow the highway back to your motel room. As he did, his mind wandered. He thought about when he got back to your motel room, he’d help you get undressed and tuck you into bed. Once he checked in with Dean and made sure there wasn’t a case that needed to be taken care of, Sam knew his clothes would end up in the same pile as yours and he’d climb into your bed next to you.

Sam also thought about how in the morning, he’d wake up next to you and then watch you get ready for your shift in the laundry room. He’d stand next to you in front of your bathroom sink and use the toothbrush that he kept there, and the two of you would make toothpaste-bubble grins at each other’s reflections.

As Sam imagined those toothpaste-bubble grins, he smiled happily out at the dark highway. He liked the direction that you and he were going in, and as he thought about more of his favorite parts, he pictured waking up next to you in _his bed_ and brushing his teeth with you in front of the little sink in _his bedroom_. Yes, Sam promised that someday those things would happen, but as he drove, he found himself thinking more about them. As he did, Sam realized that he wasn’t picturing you just spending one night with him, he was picturing you spending all the nights with him.

When the thought occurred to him, Sam realized the way he felt about you had changed sometime between the time you and he left your motel room and that very moment. His feelings for you changed into something _more_ , something he hadn’t let himself feel in a _very_ long time. The change wasn’t something he was ready to say aloud, but he smiled out at the dark highway for the rest of the drive.

-

For the next two weeks, that feeling inside Sam continued to grow. There were times that he was petrified to say it aloud, but more often, there were moments when you’d look over at him and those three words sat right on the tip of Sam’s tongue.

One of those moments happened when you were in your kitchenette making BLTs for supper. When Sam offered to help, you declined, so he picked up one of Irv’s old journals. Weeks before, you left them out for Sam, but since reading wasn’t high up on his list of favorite things to do in your motel room, the old journals stayed in their pile on the table.

Turning the pages, Sam read about old cases Irv had worked. Most everything that Sam read, he was already familiar with, but there were some things that were new. He devoured all the new information, but later found an entry where Irv wrote about you. Irv had written about how you were strong and quick and how no matter how hard _the life_ tried, it was never able to steal your compassion or humanity. As Sam continued to read more, it became very clear that Irv wished better for you and your sister, Tracy, but it was also obvious that he was proud of the hunters the two of you had become.

Feeling some of the very same things, Sam looked up at you. He too felt proud to be with a strong and resourceful woman. You were all the things that Irv said you were and so much more, and Sam felt incredibly lucky to know and be with you.

Standing in your kitchenette, you thought you felt Sam looking at you. You turned around and smiled when you saw that you were right. “What?”

“Nothing.” Sam shook his head and returned your smile. Once again, those three tiny but _so_ _powerful_ words sat on the tip of his tongue. He opened his mouth to say them, but then your phone rang.

“It’s Tracy,” you excitedly told him after looking at your phone. “Watch the bacon for me?”

“Sure.” Sam walked over to you and gave you a kiss before you answered the phone.

You greeted your sister happily, “Hey!”

Not wanting to eavesdrop, Sam busied himself by picking up where you left off with supper.

“Yes, he’s here,” you laughed into the phone a minute later.

Knowing that you were talking about him, Sam smiled to himself as he sliced tomatoes. He wasn’t sure what you told Tracy about him, but Sam knew you hadn’t told her who he was. You said you wanted to wait until you could see her in person, and Sam respected that. However, that didn’t mean he wasn’t still nervous for the day you would finally tell Tracy. The last time he saw your sister, she seemed to understand and accept that Sam was deeply sorry for his mistakes and never meant for anyone to get hurt, but he also knew that accepting someone as a person was completely different than knowing that said person was in a relationship with and in love with their sister.

 _In love_.

Sam smiled as he sliced the last tomato. He was so happy.

Once you finished your phone call with Tracy, you walked back over to Sam. Standing behind him, you wrapped your arms around his waist and smiled excitedly against the middle of his back. “Guess what.”

Sam reached one of his arms behind you and held you closer. “What?”

Your smile widened as you told him the exciting news, “I get to see my sister.”

“Yeah?” Sam took his eyes away from the sizzling bacon and looked back at you. Your beaming expression was contagious. “When’s she coming here?”

“She’s not.” You moved to his side and slid yourself under his arm. “She’s in Wyoming, and I was thinking about going there… _if_ it’s okay with you.”

Sam’s stomach dropped.

The entire time that you and he were together, you never once left Lebanon.

Going to Wyoming meant that you wouldn’t be in your motel room, where it was safe and covered with sigils and protection symbols. Going to Wyoming meant that there would be an entire state between you and Sam, and while he knew that he put more than just one state between him and you on a near-weekly basis, the thought of _you_ being that far away from him, made Sam more than anxious. He didn’t want you to go.

Of course, Sam wasn’t an asshole; he knew what he was feeling wasn’t fair. He knew he couldn’t keep you locked inside your motel room just because it was safer than outside. He also knew he couldn’t tell you he didn’t want you to go see your family. You hadn’t seen your sister in months, and who was he to tell you that you couldn’t?

Sure, Sam was your Dom, but he _never_ had the desire to use that to tell you what you could and couldn’t do with your life. Sam didn’t want to play that way. Besides, he liked that you had a mind of your own. You were strong, confident, and resourceful, just like Irv wrote in his journal.

Reminding himself of all those things, Sam took a breath and put on his best poker face, but still answered honestly, “You don’t have to ask me if you can go see your sister.”

“I know that.” You smiled at him, completely oblivious to what was going on in Sam’s mind. “I just meant that you’ve got… _the day off_ , and if I were to go to Wyoming for a few days, it would cut into _your_ _time_. I know there’s not a lot of it.”

“You haven’t seen Tracy since before you and me. I can share.” Sam was still being honest; he really didn’t mind giving up some of his time with you, so you could spend time with your sister. It was the _going to Wyoming_ part that made his chest feel tight with anxiety. Still, Sam forced himself to take a breath. “Where in Wyoming?

“Aladdin. It’s less than nine hours away.” You left Sam’s side and practically skipped your way to your closet to pull out a duffle bag. “Something went wrong with her car. She can’t fix it herself, and the one mechanic in town isn’t going to be able to get the part for a couple days.”

Sam almost offered to have Dean go to Wyoming and fix your sister’s car, but he stopped himself. You wanted the time with Tracy.   

“If I leave tonight, I’ll have _two_ _whole_ _days_ with her!”

Hearing that you were planning to leave right away made Sam’s anxiety quadruple even though he tried not to let it. Taking another breath, he took the bacon out of the frying pan, shut off the burner, and walked over to you.

“I haven’t seen her in _months_!” you told him, feeling thrilled to see the most important person in your life. “And her car troubles just happened to fall on one of the weekends when Larry is closing the motel again.”

Nodding when appropriate, Sam watched you start to shove clothing into your bag. _She’s just going to see her sister,_ he reminded himself, _She’s NOT hunting; lock up the neurosis_. “Want me to help you pack?”

-

Just a short time later, your bags were packed and sitting by your door, ready to go. You were also ready to go, but wanted to spend the rest of the evening with Sam and eat the dinner that the two of you cooked.

Because Sam was more than a professional at keeping at straight face, you were still completely oblivious to the mix-mash of anxiety and fear he was feeling. You were happy and excited to see your sister, and as you plated up the BLTs, seeing Tracy was all you could think about.

Having two whole days with your sister was an occasion that was sadly few and far between. She rarely stayed in one place for very long and said that driving from state to state was her R&R time. Sometimes, she would swing through Kansas and stay the night, but it had been months since she had the opportunity. Your schedule in at the motel made it difficult for you to go see her, and you didn’t have a car.

You swallowed the last bite of your sandwich and asked Sam, “Later, could you give me a ride to the dealership? It closes at nine, and I have to get a rental.”

“Of course I can.” Sam had only eaten half of his BLT, but when he saw that you were done, he collected the plates to bring to the sink.

Once he turned the corner into your kitchenette and was out of your sight, Sam turned on the water, so you wouldn’t hear him exhale the breath that he couldn’t manage to catch. Bracing himself with his hands on the sink ledge, he bowed his head and pulled in a few ragged lungfuls of air before mechanically washing the dishes.

Sam’s mind raced but was still completely blank while he stacked the clean plates in the drainer. When he put the clean frying pan on top of them, he felt you walk up behind him.

As you watched Sam stand up from the couch, that straight face that he was so good at keeping faltered for a split-second. It only took that tiny amount of time for you to see what he was trying to hide.

Like a tidal wave, everything he was feeling crashed into you: Sam was worried about you leaving for Wyoming. Since he left on a near-weekly basis, you were painfully familiar with that worry, and you felt like shit for not noticing it earlier.

Hating that you had been so oblivious, you quickly walked into your kitchenette and wrapped your arms around Sam’s waist as he stood at the sink. “How come you didn’t say anything?”

Sighing at the apparent slip in his façade, Sam hung his head. He was too ashamed to look back at you. “I don’t want to be a jerk. You’re so excited to go.”

“But you still could have said something. I would have understood. I _do_ understand.” When you felt Sam’s shoulders sag, you started to rub them.

“You understand, because I leave all the time.”

It was your turn to let your shoulders sag, and you quietly admitted, “Yeah.”

“How come _you_ never say anything?”

After Sam let you turn him around, you reached up and touched his cheek. “I want to.” You laughed humorlessly. “I want to be selfish and beg you not to run headfirst toward the things that could so easily tear you apart…but I don’t.”

Sam hated to think that you _ever_ felt the way he was feeling. “God, I’m so sorry.”

“You don’t have to be sorry. I know what I signed up for.” When Sam sighed and looked away from you, you gently turned his face back toward you. “I decided to be with a man who runs headfirst toward the things that could so easily tear him apart, so that other people don’t get torn apart. The reason I don’t say anything to you is because I know if I did, it would make you feel bad, and you’d be distracted. I don’t want you to be distracted. _I want you to be safe_.”

Nodding his head, Sam blew out a heavy breath. “That’s all I want for you too.”

“ _Nothing’s_ gonna happen to me,” you gently insisted. “I’m not hunting. I’m going to drive out of Kansas and into Nebraska, then go through the southern corner of South Dakota, and park at a motel just on the other side of the Wyoming border. I’ll probably have to stop and get gas a couple of times, maybe go through a drive-thru, and then when I get to Tracy’s motel room, we’re literally going to hang out and do sister stuff. Nothing’s going to happen.”

Sam sighed at himself again. He was being ridiculous. “You’re right.”

“And if it’ll help, I can guarantee you Tracy’s motel room will be warded a hundred times more than mine and locked up tighter than a curse box.” You smiled reassuringly at Sam. “Subtlety isn’t exactly her style.”

Feeling a little bit better, Sam nodded his head. “I’m sorry for being paranoid.”

“It’s okay,” you assured him. “I get why you are, and it’s normal, especially for us. We know what’s really out there, and it’s taken people away from both of us.”

Wrapping his arms around you, Sam lifted you up, so your face was level with his. “How do you deal with all this so well?”

“Tracy’s been hunting without me for months, and now there’s you. Sometimes, I’m a wreck, but I try to remind myself that when things get bad, you can handle it, and so can Tracy.” You gave Sam a kiss and whispered playfully but truthfully, “And your girl can kick some _serious_ _ass_.”

Surprising himself, Sam chuckled. “Oh, yeah?”

You nodded and gave him a cocky look. “ _Oh, yeah._ ”

Checking the cocky look on your face with one of his own, Sam let your body slide down his, but still held your waist in his hands. “I think might need to see some evidence of this supposed ass-kicking ability you claim to have.”

You knew he was only teasing, but you wanted to see where he was going with it. “Are you suggesting we spar in my kitchen?”

Sam laughed. “No way.”

“Why?” You half-scowled at him. “Because I’m a girl?”

“No; because I was had something else in mind.”

“What?”

Sam’s cocky expression change into something else. “You ticklish?”

You pulled yourself out of his grasp and backed away, laughing. You were _extremely_ ticklish. “Don’t even think about it.”

Sam countered your step backward by taking one forward. “I’m gonna take that as a _yes_.”

When he reached a hand out toward you, you swatted it away. “It’s a _yes, I’m_ _paralyzingly_ _ticklish_.”

Sam grinned. “Then you better run.”

Surprised, you paused for a fraction of a second to gape at him. It was your first mistake. All it took was that momentary pause for Sam to have you flat on your back on the bed, and like he knew were _exactly_ where your most ticklish spots were, his fingertips dug into your ribs.

Laughing hysterically, you tried to push him off you while your body squirmed uncontrollably. “SAM! OHMYGAHHH!”

“You _are_ ticklish.” Sam chuckled when you flailed between him and the bed.

“Yes!” You shrieked between bouts of laughter. “And if I knee you-” Sam moved his fingertips up under your arms, and you completely lost control of your thrashing body. “And if-if I knee you in the balls- Not. My. _Fault!_ ”

That made Sam throw his head back and laugh, then he felt himself shoved of you. By the time he realized what happened, you were out the door, panting and still half-laughing on the far side of the Impala.

Tossing you on your bed wasn’t an accident; Sam chose the soft location on purpose. He planned to just tickle you for a few minutes, and when you were breathless, he was going to take full-advantage of that soft location and give you a proper send-off to Wyoming. However, both your laughter and his made Sam completely forget about the worry and dread he was feeling moments before.

Wanting to bring you back to bed, Sam took one step out of your motel room. As he did, he saw you carefully watch his every move, and when he started to walk toward you, you laughed and darted around the back of the motel, out of his sight. Naturally, Sam ran after you.

Since the sun was setting on the other side of the building, everything was dark. Still, Sam could see the empty pool – which you were not in – the broken sidewalk, and a few storage sheds. Sam checked those first, but you weren’t there.

“Are _you_ ticklish?” He heard you call out to him from somewhere about thirty feet behind him and on his left.

Pretending he didn’t know where you were, Sam looked to his right. “Nope.”

“Riiiiight.”

Sam could tell by the sound of your voice that you were getting closer to him.  

“You’re really gonna try to tell me that Dean didn’t tickle torture you when you were a kid?”

Sam laughed. “Older siblings are dicks like that,” he teased, because _you_ were the older sister, “Aren’t they?”

He could hear you quietly laugh from your hiding place, “ _Yes, we are_.”

Behind him, Sam heard something fall into the empty pool. He whipped around. “It’s dark out here. Please don’t go by the pool.”

Then, he felt a tap on his shoulder. “I’m not by the pool.”

Hunter-quick, Sam spun around and lunged at you, but felt your shirt slip through his fingers. “Dammit,” he cursed under his breath. Sam _really_ wanted to catch you again.

“Awww,” you playfully mocked from about fifty feet away from him. “Big, strong hunter can’t catch the weak, little motel maid?”

Shaking his head, Sam laughed at your smack-talk. “Ohhhh, _that’s it_.”

When you saw him take off in a run toward you, you squealed and sprinted toward the front of the hotel again. You knew if you could just get to the far side of the office, there was a storm cellar that Sam probably didn’t know about. The cellar went under the parking spaces and led inside the office. The front door was locked, which you knew wouldn’t keep Sam out for long, but it was still fun.

However, you didn’t even make it past the Impala, and he had you pinned against the passenger side door.

“Caught you.” Sam grinned triumphantly. He wasn’t winded from running the handful of yards, but he still breathed heavily. Sam was ridiculously turned on.

Exhilarated from the mock-hunt and chase and sharing Sam’s want, you panted, “Now what are you gonna do to me?”

“Interesting choice in words.” Sam used his body to press you even harder into the car door.

A heavy breath fell out of your mouth when you felt his solid cock press against your thigh through both his jeans and yours. “ _Fuck_.”

Sam bent down to kiss your neck. “Hmmm?”

You whined and tilted your head to the side when you felt his teeth scrape along your skin. “You’re hard.”

Chucking, Sam slid his hand down the front of your pants. He didn’t even have to move your panties to the side to feel for what he already knew was there, but he still did and was easily able to push his pointer finger inside you. “And you’re wet.”

When you gasped and arched your body toward his, Sam reached down with his free hand and opened the button on your jeans. Doing so gave his other arm more room inside your pants, and he was able to push a second finger inside you.

Once he did, you moaned loudly and reached for his mouth. Giving it to you, tangled his tongue with yours, and just a few seconds later, he could taste and feel that you were going to come.

“Sam,” you gasped his name.

“I got you, baby.” He held you closer and whispered in your ear, “Just come.”

You breathlessly shook your head. “Not here.”

Instantly, Sam stopped and remembered one of the limits you and he talked about. Public sex was a _yes_ , as long as it was discreet. Yes, it was dark outside, and the motel’s parking lot was completely empty, but across the alley, the Gas-n-Sip’s parking lot was anything but.

Completely shielding you with his body, Sam gave you a soft kiss. “Sorry.”

“It’s okay,” you panted and laughed. “I didn’t realize it until just now.”

Relieved that you were also caught up in the moment, Sam kissed you again. “Let’s go back inside….” He stole a quick glance at his watch. “The dealership doesn’t close for a couple of hours, so we’ve got some time before we have to get your rental.”

“Actually….” You reached up and wrapped your arms around Sam’s neck. “I texted Tracy while I was hiding from you. I told her I wasn’t leaving until morning.”

“You don’t have to-”

Shaking your head, you interrupted Sam, “It doesn’t make sense for me to drive all night, then spend the whole morning sleeping, instead of spending time with Tracy. And….” You grinned. “I get more time with you, which I don’t want to waste _talking_.”

Sam grinned too; he liked your reasoning. “So, we’ve got all night?”

“Yup, and I’m _really_ done talking.”

“I bet you are.” Sam chuckled, still able to feel your wetness on his fingers. “Baby, I _could_ bring you back inside and finish what I started, or….”

“There’s an _or_?”

“Or….” Sam brought his you-slick fingers up to your mouth and lightly traced your bottom lip. He groaned when your tongue came out and swiped across them. “ _Or_ , you could be a patient little girl while I drive us back to our spot. Last time we were there, you said you wanted to sleep in the car. If you’re good for me, we can.”

 _Little girl_. Those two words gave you a rush and filled you with so much want that it made your head spin. As your answer, you reached behind yourself, opened the car door, and got into the Impala.

Feeling his cock twitch and leak inside his too-tight jeans, Sam grinned and bent down to kiss you. It was just quick, then he whispered, “Be right back. _Stay right here_.” After you only nodded, he asked, “Is that a _yes, Sam_?”

“Yes, Sam.”

“Good girl.” Sam closed the Impala’s door, the quickly ran inside your motel room.

He grabbed all your bags, a couple of pillows and a blanket, and a handful of condoms from your bedside table drawer. When he got back out to the car, he threw the bedding in the backseat, then your bags in the trunk. As Sam went to close it, he saw a couple of his Fed suits in their dry-cleaning bags. Grinning, he took something out of each of the bags and shoved them into his pocket.

An hour later, you and Sam were parked in the same place he’d taken you to a couple weeks before.

Once in the backseat, it didn’t take long for you and Sam to have your clothes flung around the inside of the car. He had you lying back on the soft pillows, taking advantage of your naked skin in front of him. Each of his kisses and touches made you want him even more, but when you felt his teeth nip at your collarbone or the soft underside of your breasts, you could hardly contain yourself. You reached for him, tried to pull his mouth back up to yours, but he grabbed your wrists and brought them above your head.

Grinning at you, Sam pulled out one of the ties he’d taken from the trunk and dragged the end up and down your body, teasing the delicate marks his mouth left behind.

It was sweaty and humid in the small confines of the Impala’s backseat, but the light drag of the soft material made you shiver. However, it wasn’t just the barely-there touch of the tie that gave you goosebumps; it was what you knew Sam intended to do with it. After all, you were the one who suggested he use a tie if he ever were to tie you up, and in that moment, you wanted it.

Sam could see the expression on your face. He saw how you trembled excitedly under his touch and responded when he dragged the tie up and down your body. Sam thought it was obvious what you wanted, but he still kissed his way up to your mouth and looked you directly in the eyes. “You want me to?”

Not taking your eyes away from his, you nodded, “Yes, Sam.”

Those two words always made Sam’s heart beat faster in his chest and filled him up with so much want, but he pushed all that aside. There was something he had to do, first. “You picked the safeword. Say it for me.”

“Impala.”

“Good girl.” Sam kissed you. “Promise me you’ll use it if you need to.”

“I promise.”

“And _I_ promise the second you say it, I’ll stop. Always. No matter what.”

“I know. I trust you.”

After dragging the tie up your ribs and chest, he held it up in front of your face. “Say it for me one more time.”

As you momentarily looked at the tie in Sam’s hand, another shiver of anticipation made its way through your body. You looked back at him. “Impala.”

“Very good, little girl.”

A minute later, Sam had your wrists bound with the tie. The excess length was knotted to the second tie which was then closed in the Impala’s door, keeping your raised fists level with the top of the window.

After Sam made sure the knots weren’t pinching your skin or too tight, he pushed himself up onto his knees, trapped your right thigh between his hip and the back of the seat, and pushed on the back of your other knee until your thigh was flat against your stomach. You and he were both contorted to fit in the small space the backseat offered, but it was the closeness that made everything more intense.

Holding you in place, Sam used his free hand to tease your soaked and sensitive pussy. He lightly rubbed your clit with the pad of his thumb, pushed two fingers inside of you just far enough to graze your g-spot, and when he could feel that you were close to coming, he’d stop.

Shaking and sweating, needy from Sam’s touches in the motel’s parking lot, the hour-long drive, and from his teasing in the backseat, you pleaded for him to let you come. He didn’t, and by the third time he took your orgasm away before you could even get it, you were almost incoherently moaning his name.

As Sam watched you, his cock dripped down the inside of your widely-spread thigh, aching to be buried inside you. “You want more, little girl?”

“P-please, Sam,” you stammered, so he did what you asked…three more times.

When Sam stopped the last time, you were writhing on the backseat as much as your bonds allowed, still moaning even though he wasn’t touching you. Sam had briefly taken his hands away from you to roll a condom down his achingly hard length, groaning low when the tight ring settled tightly at the base of his cock. He felt just as strung out as you looked.

After leaning over you, Sam slid one hand behind your head and held himself in his hand with the other. Light dragging the head along your warm and wet pussy, he shakily murmured against your lips, “Fuck, you’re doin’ _so good_.”

Sam’s praise made your needy clit twitch. Wanting to feel something against it, you tried to push your hips up against Sam’s, but he only pushed them back down onto the seat. “Please-” you whined, “Sam, _please_. I need- Oh, God…,” you sobbed and threw your head back when you felt him slowly ease himself inside you.  

“This what you need, little girl?” Sam asked raggedly when he felt you clench and pulse around him. You only babbled and begged some more, so he told you, “Look at me.” You did, and he slowly rocked his hips just once. “ _This_ what you need? My big cock in your tight and needy pussy?”

“Yes,” you whined desperately, feeling like you were going to burst into a million pieces.

“Say what you’re supposed to say, little girl” Sam hoarsely reminded you, “Say what you’re supposed to say, and I’ll give you more.”

“Yes, Sam,” you bleated and squeezed your eyes shut. Your need was agonizingly and beautifully overwhelming.  

Sam also felt like he was going to shatter into countless shards of himself. He shook with need right along with you, but before he moved an inch, he told you again, “Little girl, look at me.”

When you did, Sam rested his forehead against yours and slowly rolled his hips. The two of you moaned in unison, so he did it again and again. The entire time, your wrists stayed bound, but he held the back of your head with one hand, your hip with the other and never took his eyes off yours.

“Stay with me,” Sam begged shakily when your eyes would fall closed, and when you obeyed, he praised you, “So good, little girl. _My_ good little girl.”

Each time Sam pushed his cock inside you, he did it slow and hard just like you once asked him to. The stretch of his thick length, the slide of cock along your g-spot, and the hard snap of his hips at the end, brought you closer and closer to orgasm, but Sam’s slow pace always kept it at bay.

Instead of teasing you, Sam made it last, drew out the anticipation until neither him nor you could moan a single sound. There were only heavy breaths and the slick slap of his skin on yours for what felt like hours.

Then, out of nowhere, both you and Sam felt it.

“Sam, fu- _Please_.”

“Not yet,” Sam gasped out as he continued to move slowly. Then, when he couldn’t make it last any longer, when he couldn’t make _you_ last any longer, he breathed the one phrase you were so desperate to hear, “Come for me.”

Pulling desperately on the tie that Sam wrapped around your wrists and shut in the Impala’s door, you writhed on the seat and arched your body up as against his as your orgasm screamed through you. From the points of your toes, to your clit and where Sam’s body was pushed so deep inside yours, all the way up to your pebbled nipples and gapping mouth, everything tingled and screamed for Sam’s touch.

As Sam shouted and jerked through his own orgasm, he could see what you wanted and knew exactly what you needed. Giving it to you, he quickly reached up and tugged on the small, excess piece of neck tie that he purposefully left when he made the knots. As soon as he pulled, all the knots unraveled, and he caught your arms as they fell.

Still inside you, Sam sat back on his ass and brought you into his lap to wrap his arms around you. After finding your mouth, he bounced you up and down on his cock, until you came, gasping his name all over again.  

After you and he could breathe easily again and were cleaned up, Sam made sure you were doing okay and checked your wrists. As he rubbed and kissed at the pink marks in your skin, you quietly asked him, “Did you bring any water?”

“Dammit,” Sam sighed under his breath. “I didn’t even think of it.”

After searching under the seats and in the trunk, he found a half-empty bottle of water that he was sure was from a month before. You drank it without complaint, but Sam made a silent promise to himself that he would always have water and be prepared.

That night, you and Sam spent the night in the backseat of the Impala, nestled comfortably between pillows and blankets just like he promised.

You fell asleep long before he did, and Sam just lied there with you in his arms. He looked at you while you slept, smiled when you smacked your lips and huffed in your sleep, and wondered what you were dreaming about when your eyes twitched behind your lids.

The first time you murmured his name, Sam tried to shush you back to sleep, but then you whined it like you were in pain or scared. He hated seeing you like that. “Shhh.” He lightly rocked you in his arms and kissed your forehead. “It’s okay. I’m right here.”

Instantly, your eyes popped open.

“It’s okay,” Sam repeated himself. “What were you dreaming about?”

“I don’t remember.” You rubbed your forehead and tried to chase after the leftover images of your dream as they faded away. When you looked up at Sam, you saw the concerned look on his face. “Are you worried about Wyoming, just because it’s me? Or are you worried because you honestly think something bad is going to happen?”

“Just ‘cause it’s you,” Sam answered honestly. “Because I….” _I love you_ , he thought to himself, but he didn’t say it. Sam wanted to tell you that he loved you because he couldn’t contain himself, because he couldn’t _not_ tell you. For weeks, Sam felt those things, but he didn’t want _the moment_ tainted with the worry and anxiety that was stirring in his stomach. Sam quickly finished his sentence, “Because I want you to be safe.”

“I know.” Your sleepy eyes started to droop. “I will be.”

“I know you will, baby,” Sam kissed you again, then he closed his eyes too.

-

The next morning, you and Sam were standing at the trunk of your rented four-door sedan. He reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out an angel blade.

“Sam, I don’t need-”

“I know you don’t think you do, but _I need_ you to have it.” Sam put the angel blade in your purse. “Don’t argue with me.”

You smirked. “Bossy plaid.”

Sam laughed and swatted your ass. “I put a bag in the front seat for you too, and I want you to take this.” He put a wad of cash in your hand.

“I _have_ money,” you insisted and gave it back to him. “You can load me up with guns and angel blades that I _don’t need_ , but you’re _not_ giving me money.”

Grinning, Sam put his cash back in his pocket. “Sassy panties.”

“I left those in the backseat of the Impala.”

“Doubtful. I don’t think they come off.”

-

Dean was sitting at one of the big tables in the bunker trying to wake up with a cup of coffee, so he could check the news on the laptop when Sam walked down the stairs. Dean checked his watch. It was seven in the morning. “______ have another early shift this morning?”

“No.” Sam sat down at the table across from his brother and tossed down a stack of newspapers. “She’s on her way to Wyoming to see her sister.”

Dean could clearly see the butt in Sam’s forehead. “And you’re freaking out.”

Sam grabbed Dean’s laptop and turned it toward himself. “I’m not freaking out.”

Dean reached for one of the newspapers. “You give her one of the angel blades?”

“And two guns, a canister of salt, a flask of holy water, and the brass knuckles.”

“She didn’t have any of her own?”

“There’s nothing wrong with having three sets of brass knuckles.”

“How many hands does your girl have?” Dean teased.

“Shut up.” Sam scrolled through his usual news sites. “And I gave her your Bowie knife.”

Dean's eyes went wide. “You _what_?! I paid good money for that thing!”

“You did not. You _stole_ it.”

“Whatever.” Dean rolled his eyes. “If that blade gets scratched, so help me-”

Sam glared at Dean.  

“Sammy,” Dean sighed apologetically. “I’m sure she won’t even have to use the knife.”

Not taking his eyes off the laptop, Sam said, “Me too.”

-

Two hours into looking for a case, Sam felt his phone vibrate in his pocket.

            **[Kahlan Amnell 7:34AM]: just stopped to get breakfast. Miss you already.**  
            **[Jim Page 7:34AM]: Miss you too. Please be careful.**  
**[Kahlan Amnell 7:35AM]: If I send you a pic of my boobs, will you unclench?**  
**[Jim Page 7:35AM]: Maybe….**

Once again, Dean could plainly see the look on his brother face and noticed the butt in his forehead disappeared. “She send good pics?”

“Shut up.” Sam laughed and put his phone safely in his pocket.

-

As the day and afternoon went on, you kept sending Sam short texts telling him where you were. He never asked you to do that, but he was happy that you did.

When he got a text from you saying that you were stopping for gas in South Dakota, Sam was relieved that you were almost there.

-

After that, nearly four hours went by without a phone call. Dean could see through Sam like a piece of cellophane and kept reminding him that cell service was shit in the southern half of South Dakota. Sam couldn’t argue, but that didn’t mean he didn’t worry.

Then, Sam’s phone rang. He all but ripped it out of his pocket, then sighed in disappointment when he saw that it wasn’t your name on the caller ID. He put the call on speakerphone.

“Hey, Jody,” Sam greeted her less-than enthusiastically.

“Well, hello to you too, Sam,” Jody chuckled. “I take it you weren’t expecting a call from me?”

“Nah,” Dean answered for Sam. “He’s waiting for his girl to call.”

“Sam’s got _a_ _girl_?” Jody teased. “ _Ooooooo_.”

Sam reached across the table and smacked his brother on the arm.

Rubbing at his shoulder Dean asked, “So, what’s up? I know you didn’t call to give Sammy shit about his girl.”

“Well, no,” Jody admitted through a laugh. “I’ve actually got a couple hunters at my place who had a run-in with a few demons. One’s pretty beat up, but my main concern is the one of the local PD who found out before I did. He’s still in the dark, but I was hoping you two could clean up before he finds out what really happened. There’s a hot meal in it if you do.”  

“Yeah. Sure,” Sam answered after he got a nod from Dean. “We’ll be there in a few hours.” 

After ending the call with Jody, Sam and Dean went to their bedrooms. As Sam packed his bags, he couldn’t ignore the feeling of dread that grew in his stomach. When he loaded his bags into the Impala, Dean saw the look.

“It's not her, Sammy."

Sam nodded his head and sat down in the Impala. He called you twice as Dean drove out of Kansas, three more times before they finished driving through Nebraska, and another five times between the South Dakota border and Jody’s house.

All his calls went straight to your voicemail.

When Dean parked the Impala in front of Jody’s house, Sam saw your rental car in the garage.


	12. All Fall Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Sam saw your rental car in Jody’s garage, he jumped out of the Impala before Dean had even gotten it parked. Knowing for sure that you were one of the hunters that had a run-in with a few demons took away Sam’s ability to think logically, and he took off in a run toward Jody’s house. 
> 
> However, he didn’t get very far.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A big thank you to [ ladyataralasse](http://archiveofourown.org/users/lady_ataralasse/pseuds/lady_ataralasse) for beta'ing for me and for title hunting while I'm pregnant and crazy and can't make my brain work. 
> 
>  
> 
> [(Yeah, guys. I'm knocked up. Baby #2 coming February 2018. Yay!!!)](http://spectaculacular-sammy.tumblr.com/post/163268596254/baby-2-coming-february-2018)
> 
>  
> 
> And [PosseMagnet](http://archiveofourown.org/users/PosseMagnet/pseuds/PosseMagnet)...just thanks. lol You deal with my neurosis on a level which no one else can compare. 
> 
> And both these wonderful ladies....I GET TO SEE THEM IN EXACTLY THREE WEEKS!!!!!! (MinnCon)
> 
> Title comes from One Republic's [ All Fall Down.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qf6hLhrHtqg)

When Sam saw your rental car in Jody’s garage, he jumped out of the Impala before Dean had even gotten it parked. Knowing for sure that _you_ were one of the hunters that had a run-in with a few demons took away Sam’s ability to think logically, and he took off in a run toward Jody’s house.

However, he didn’t get very far.

Dean stood in front of his brother. “Sammy, stop!”

“No!” Sam pushed Dean out of the way and started to resume his former path, but Dean started to drag him off toward the garage. “Dean! What the f-”

“Just take a breath!” Dean yelled and blocked Sam again when he tried to b-line for Jody’s front door. “Does she know?!”

“What?!” Sam looked at Dean, confused and very pissed off. “Does _who_ know _what_?!”

“Tracy. _______’s sister. Does she know?”

Sam froze, and his eyes went wide. You didn’t make it to Wyoming. There was _no way_ you told Tracy. “Fuck.” Tipping his head back, Sam looked at the sky and took a deep breath. Once he calmed himself, he wondered, “How the hell do _you_ know about that?”

“Because when you’re happy, you ramble, and God help me, sometimes…” Embarrassed, Dean rubbed his forehead. “…well, sometimes, I friggin’ listen!”

Sam rolled his eyes and answered Dean’s question, “No. Tracy doesn’t know.”

“So, take a breath, and come up with a plan.”

Sam nodded his head. Dean was right. “Okay. Jody called us for clean-up. That’s why we’re here. When we walk in the house, Tracy will recognize us, and if she wants us to help with anything, we will.”

Dean looked at his brother, shocked. “That’s it? You’re not going to tell Tracy?”

“No. That’s ______’s business, not mine.”

“Look at you, Sammy,” Dean teased, “The good and respectful boyfriend.” When Sam rolled his eyes, Dean laughed and added, “So, if Tracy doesn’t want our help, you’re really just gonna leave without seeing ______?”

“No.” Sam started to calmly walk toward Jody’s house. “You’re going to make a distraction, and I’m going to sneak in and see her.”

With a smirk on his face, Dean followed his brother up to the front door. “So, in other words, lying and subterfuge?”

“Yup.”

“What happened to _good and respectful boyfriend_ Sam?”

Sam knocked on Jody’s front door. “Demons attacked his girlfriend.”

-

Sam’s plan had worked right up until the moment he walked into Jody’s living room. He got a half-second to see Tracy asleep on the couch and a police officer doing the same thing in the recliner, and another half-second to drink from Jody’s flask of holy water while she drank from Dean’s. When Sam passed the flask to Dean, he briefly wondered why the cop was there, but then Jody doled out orders. Sam was going with her to do clean-up at the barn where you were attacked, and Dean was going to stay to watch the house.

“Sammy should stay,” Dean insisted. With Tracy and the cop fast asleep, Sam would have plenty of time to see you.

“Nope.” Jody took Sam’s arm and walked him out the door. “We’ll be back in a few hours.”

Leaving Jody’s house was not a part of Sam’s plan, but she was surprisingly forceful, and Sam was helpless to follow her and sit down in the passenger seat of her truck. He almost argued with Jody when she drove away from her house and turned the corner, but then Sam saw what must have been the police officer’s squad car and battered Mazda that was probably what Tracy drove from Wyoming to South Dakota. As soon as Sam saw Tracy’s car, it dawned on him why Jody was so insistent that he go and Dean stay.

Sam swallowed the lump in his throat and wondered, “Did Tracy say something to you about me?”

Jody heard the odd-sounding smallness in Sam’s voice. She took her eyes away from the road and looked at him with a confused-expression. “She said she worked a case with you and Dean over in Oregon, but that’s it. Why?”

A little relieved, but not wanting to get his hopes up, Sam shrugged. “You were pretty dead set on me going with you. Thought maybe she asked you to do it that way.”

“Nope. That was all me.” Jody gave Sam a big smile. “I wanted you to come with me, because I wanna hear all about your girl! I’ve been dying to know about her ever since you mentioned her on the phone.” When he only gave her a shy smile back, she nudged his shoulder. “So…what’s she like?”

Sam felt guilty for doubting Jody. Over the years she had always on both Sam’s and Dean’s sides, and Sam knew he had no reason to think otherwise. He also knew that Jody was sincere when she said she wanted to hear about you, but there was still a job to do. “Maybe I should tell you later…once the we’re done. You said there’re hunters who are pretty beat up back at your house….”

“Nah.” Jody shook her head. “Tracy wasn’t even there. Her sister was the one who was in the middle of it, and she’s barely even hurt. She took down a handful of demons and just walked away with a few bruises and banged-up shoulder. Looks worse than it is. She’s really just gotta sleep it off.” When Jody saw Sam stare off into space, she laughed and nudged his shoulder again to bring him back down to Earth. “I wanna hear details! What’s this girl like?”

Sam was still anxious to get back to Jody’s house and see you and check your bruises and shoulder, but for the first time in three states and two days, he smiled. He had confirmation that you were all right.

“She’s….” Sam shyly rubbed the back of his neck and thought of each and every thing he loved about you. “She’s amazing.”

-

As soon as Jody and Sam were gone, Dean soundlessly walked past Tracy, who was fast asleep on the couch and the cop who was sleeping in the recliner with a plate of donuts on the coffee table next to him. There was an obvious joke there, and had the cop not been as tall as and built a lot like Sam, Dean would have been unable to let the joke slide.

Going quietly down the hall, Dean checked behind each door. Three bedrooms were empty, but at the end of the hallway, he found you curled up on a bed with your right arm clenched tightly to your chest.

From what Dean could see from his place in the doorway, there was quite a bit of bruising on your face. Wanting to see more, he walked further into the bedroom and could see that you were cradling your arm the way you were, probably because you’d dislocated it. You weren’t wearing a sling from the hospital, but there was one thrown on the floor, so Dean figured at some point you went to the hospital. When Dean sat down on the end of the bed, he noticed that you’d broken several fingernails and had a couple of knuckles that had broken-open skin. You fought hard and well, and from the look it, kicked some serious ass.

Feeling oddly proud and very relieved, Dean smiled.

When Jody called Sam at the bunker and said that there were two hunters that were hurt, Dean didn’t really think anything of it. Jody asked for their help, so of course they’d go. But when Sam started to get that worried-butt in his forehead and called you nearly non-stop for three states, Dean felt some of that worry starting to rub off on him too. Then, when Dean pulled into Jody’s driveway, and Sam practically shrieked that it was your car in the garage, Dean felt a cold feeling of dread in his stomach.

At first, Dean thought that what he feeling was the same feeling he always got when one of the good guys gets hurt by one of the bad guys, but as he sat down next to you on the bed, an unexpected emotion washed over him. He couldn’t name the emotion, but when he saw that you really were all right, that you’d live to see another day and make his brother smile, Dean found himself fighting off the urge to pull you into a hug.

Not wanting to wake you up, or hurt your shoulder, or hug his brother’s girl that he’d only met one time, Dean moved up, so he was leaning back against the wall by your head. He was careful to leave a respectable amount of space between himself and you, but still reached over and tucked a piece of your hair behind your ear. As soon as he touched you, Dean realized why he was feeling the way he was.

Sam had always been the most important person to Dean. _Always_. Since day one: May 2, 1983. Then, after what felt like multiple lifetimes later, you came along. On that day, Dean could tell Sam was crazy about you, but whatever the two of you had didn’t last long. Fate threw you and Sam the shittiest curve-ball, and Dean had to endure a month’s worth of tension-filled car rides with a constant-brooding Sam. Then, with a little Yenta-like meddling on Dean’s part, you and Sam were able to reconcile. It took some time for you and Sam to work out everything, but once that happened, Dean could tell Sam wasn’t ever going to let you go. You were important to Sam, so by proxy, you became important to Dean as well.

Dean knew that Sam wouldn’t want you to be left alone if it could be helped – and Dean didn’t feel right about leaving you by yourself anyway –  so he sat with you, protectively watching over you until you woke up.

About an hour later, you woke up exactly the way Dean thought you might: you sat straight up on the bed with saucer-wide eyes.

“You’re okay,” Dean assured you when you looked around the bedroom like you didn’t know where you were. “You’re at Jody’s house. Jody Mills.”

“The Sheriff.” You nodded your head and tried to catch your breath, but then realized who you were sitting next to. “Dean? How are you here?”

“Jody called me and Sam.”

“Where is he?”

“With Jody. They’re…uh…cleaning-up after you. Word has it you took a little detour from your road trip and ganked yourself some demons.”

You laughed humorlessly, “That’s not exactly how it went.”

“Well, whatever happened, you’re apparently special enough to have the Sheriff _and_ the P.D. workin’ your case.”

“The police?”

“Yup. When Jody called us, she said that the P.D. got wind of what happened before she did. I don’t know if it’s the same one, but there’s a cop asleep in her recliner.” Dean saw your face pale. “What?”

“What’d he look like?”

“Dunno. Tall. Mid to late-thirties. Dark hair. I saw his name badge. French…maybe Cajun last name.”

Praying that you were wrong, you offered, “Deveraux?”

“That’s the one.” Dean nodded. “E. Deveraux.”

“Fuck,” you whispered, feeling worry as well as irritation fill your stomach.

“You know him?”

“Officer Elliot Deveraux, but everyone calls him Elsie.” You ran your fingers through your hair, feeling all the tender bruises on your scalp, but ignoring them. You were too busy simultaneously thinking about how Sam was going to react when he saw the man who was not only your ex-boyfriend, but your ex-Dom, and how you were going to deal with seeing him again. It had been nearly five years since you last saw Elsie.

“So, you _do_ know him,” Dean could hear the anxiety in your voice. He didn’t know why it was there, but he found himself feeling very protective of you. He made sure he was between you and the door.

Feeling exhausted and incredibly annoyed, you let your head fall back against the wall. “He’s my ex.”

-

When Sam and Jody got back to her house, Sam was surprised when Tracy started to herd him along with Jody and the police officer down the hallway. Jody and the officer walked inside the last bedroom in the hallway, but Tracy stopped Sam before he could follow them.

“My sister is in that room,” Tracy whispered. “You can introduce yourself to her as John Smith if you want, but just so you know, if you decide to tell her who you are, she’s not going to react in the same shitty way I did. She’s never blamed you.”

Not sure what to say, Sam nodded his head.

“And while we’re on the subject, I never apologized for how I treated you. My parents' deaths aren’t on you, and I’m sorry for blaming you.”

“Thank you,” Sam whispered. Shock and overwhelming emotion prevented him from offering much more.

“ _Thank you_ and your brother for driving all the way up here and helping out. It means a lot.”

Without giving him a chance to say anything else, Tracy led Sam through the door. He was a little surprised to see Dean in the room with you, but the bruises on your face stopped Sam from feeling anything except the fierce need hold you. He couldn’t, so he clenched his fists instead.

“_______’s okay,” Dean told Tracy, Jody, the police officer, and Sam. “Everyone was asleep when I heard her wake up, so I just stayed with her.”

Sam noticed that his brother gave him an extra second of eye contact, silently reassuring him that you really were fine, but Sam also noticed that in addition to looking at him, Dean also looked at the police officer. The look was so quick that no one else saw it, but Sam did. Dean was watching the police officer, Sam just didn’t know why.

Before anyone could say anything else, Jody spoke up, “_______, this is Officer Deveraux, but I hear you already know who he is. He’s going to ask you a couple few about what happened at the gas station, okay?”

Sam watched you nod your head, then you made eye contact with him. It was so quick that he couldn’t be sure, but it almost looked like you were silently apologizing to him.

Officer Deveraux crouched down in front of you. “It’s been a long time. Five years?”

“Almost,” you answered in an annoyed-tone that Sam had never heard you use before. He also watched you situate yourself further back on the bed, closer to Dean and away from the police officer.

Officer Deveraux gave you a cautious half-smile. “It’s good to see you.”

“How did you hear about this?” You shifted your eyes over to Tracy and glared at her. “Did you call him?”

Tracy held up her hands and shook her head, but before she could say anything Officer Deveraux answered, “I work for the Police Department in Pennington County, now. When you disappeared from the gas pumps, the store clerk called me. I reviewed the surveillance footage, and as soon as I saw it, I knew it was you. I put out an APB, and when you checked into the hospital, I was notified.”

When you snapped, “And you just happened to know where I was staying after that?” Sam also wondered the same thing.

Like Sam, Jody got the sense that there was something going on. Still, she took a step forward. “I worked with Elsie when he first transferred to Pennington. When I saw him at the hospital, we talked, and I told him you and your sister would be staying with me.”

As soon as Sam heard the name, _Elsie_ , everything clicked. This was _the_ police officer. Your ex. Your ex-Dom.

Sam wasn’t immediately jealous – you were with him, _not_ the police officer - Sam just didn’t like the way you were obviously uncomfortable. The thing nearly drove him insane was how he couldn’t do a damn thing about it. The only thing he could do was clench his fists and his jaw tighter.

“When I was at the gas station, I made a phone call while I filled up the car,” your voice pulled Sam out of his head. “When I reached for my purse, someone grabbed me from behind-”

“Which is the exact moment the surveillance cameras cut out.”

“Well, it’s a good thing I was there and can tell you what happened,” you barked. Officer Deveraux nodded apologetically and motioned for you to continue. “I was grabbed from behind and shoved into a van. The driver drove for a few hours, then stopped at barn. When he let me out, I kneed him in the balls and ran. He caught me once, dislocated my shoulder, and knocked me around, but I knocked him out with a fallen tree branch. I found the highway and followed it to the hospital, where I called Tracy, who then called Sheriff Mills.”

“So, there were two people. The one who put you in the van and the one who drove.”

“I can’t say. I only saw one man.”

“What did he look like?”

“Thirties. Caucasian. Average height. Average build.”  

“Any identifying markings? Scars? Tattoos?”

“No. He was just a normal-looking guy.”

“What color eyes did he have?”

“I don’t recall.”

“Did he have facial hair?”

“I didn’t see.”

“Was he wearing jeans? Khakis?”

“He had on pants.”

Sam could tell by your sarcasm, you were growing increasingly annoyed with the line of questioning. Sam felt exactly the same way.

“Did he wear a jacket? Was there a logo or a brand name?”

“I didn’t see.”

“What color was the van?”

“White.” Sam watched you anxiously run your fingers through your hair and wince at a spot that must have been tender on your scalp. You were working to stay calm, but so close to snapping. “Maybe gray or tan.”

“Did you see the license plate?”

“No.”

“Do you remember if they were South Dakota plates?”

“Jesus Christ, Elsie! No, I don’t remember the fucking license plates! I was too busy being accosted! Why don’t you take your goddamn questions and shove them-”

Tracy quickly stepped between you and Elise. “Ooo-kay. I think that’s enough for now.” Without waiting for a response, Tracy started to walk him out of the room. Jody followed them, and before she closed the door, Sam could hear Tracy. “You came out of nowhere, and she hasn’t seen you in five years.” Officer Deveraux tried to defend himself, but Tracy cut him off, “I still don’t know what happened between you two, but it was messy, and you can’t blame her. Just go. If she thinks of anything else, I’ll call you.”

Once the door was closed, Sam vaulted from his place in the corner of the room and kneeled in front of you. He checked the bruise on your forehead and your busted lip, but when he tried to look at the scrapes and scabs on your knuckles, you shoved his hands away and wrapped your good arm around his neck. “Will you just kiss me?”

Dean smiled at you and Sam before walking out into the hallway to watch for Tracy and Jody.

Not needing to be asked twice, Sam kissed you and pulled you into his arms, _trying_ to be careful of your scabbed lip and your sore shoulder. He must not have done it very well, because he felt you wince against his mouth.

“Sorry.” Sam reached up and kissed a spot on your forehead that wasn’t bruised. He saw another gash buried in your hair. “Are you sure you’re okay? Do you need to go back to the hospital?”

“I’m okay,” you promised. “It looks worse than it is.”

Sam wasn’t sure that he believed you, but he tried. “So, what happened? I tried to call you a million times.”

You pulled your phone out of your pocket. The screen was shattered. “I didn’t have time to call at the hospital, and by the time Tracy got there, I was pretty high on painkillers. I’ve been asleep almost the entire time. I’m sorry.”

“It’s okay.” Sam kissed you again.

“Please, take me home,” you begged.

“Baby, I can’t right now, but I will. I promise.”

“I didn’t get a chance to tell Tracy about you,” you confessed between kisses. “I will though.”

“I figured, but don’t worry about it,” Sam murmured against your lips as he sat down on the bed next to you. “You don’t have to do it now.”  

When Sam pulled you into his lap, you kissed him a little too enthusiastically and felt the crack in your lip re-open. You pulled away from Sam’s kisses and wiped away the tiny drop of blood from below his bottom lip. “I’m sorry about Elsie. I didn’t know.”

“It’s fine. Really it is.” Sam wiped your lip too. “But you should have some ice on this.”

Choosing to ignore Sam’s remark about ice, you tucked his hair behind his ears and gently thumbed at the tired-lines under his eyes. “Sam, you don’t look fine.”

“I don’t look fine, because you’re covered in bruises.”

“But _he’s_ going to be back.”

“I don’t care if he comes back.”

“Yes, you do. If you clench any harder, you’re going to break your hands and teeth.”

Sam couldn’t argue. His hands and his jaw ached. “If he comes back, I’ll be fine. Promise.”

“He’s _going_ to come back; I gave him shit for information.”

Sam chuckled. “The normal-looking man who took you was wearing pants and drove a white or tan or gray van? Yeah. That was helpful.”

“Well, I couldn’t exactly tell him that a demon magically transported me to a barn over three hundred miles away. He doesn’t know about any of this.”

Sam wasn’t sure if he heard you right. “A demon _brought_ _you_ to that barn?”

“Yeah. Right after I got off the phone with you.”

“Normal demons can’t do that.”

“Guys.” Dean walked back into the room. “Tracy’s coming back.”

“We’re gonna figure this out,” Sam promised as he stood up and walked over to stand next to Dean.

You smiled and nodded your head just before Tracy walked in. You hated that you weren’t touching Sam.

Tracy sat down next to you. “Please, God tell me you weren’t hunting.”

“I wasn’t,” you sighed. “I already told Sam and Dean. I literally stopped to get gas, and some demon took me.”

“You made introductions already?”

You rolled your eyes. “Let it go.”

Tracy gave Sam a _I told you so_ look – which he couldn’t help but smile at – then your sister asked you, “But you got the demon, right?”

“Yeah.” You nodded your head. “I got all four of them.”

“Good. Oh, and speaking of which…” Tracy reached in her pocket and pulled out your chunky, wooden bracelet. “I cleaned this up for you.”

You were just about to thank Tracy, when Sam spoke in a panicked sounding voice, “There were only three bodies at the barn. All males.”

“There should have been one more. A female demon.” You looked between Tracy, Sam, and Dean. “She’s the one who took me from the gas station and brought me to the barn.”

Dean pointed at your wooden bracelet. “That’s Palo Santo, right?”

“Yeah.” You handed the bracelet to Dean when he held out his hand. “Irv gave it to me after I started hunting. Tracy has one too, but she never uses it.”

Tracy shrugged. “I prefer an angel blade.”

As Dean looked at the bracelet, he noticed that the wooden pieces fit together into a stake, and on it was an anti-possession symbol and a few other markings that he didn’t recognize. “What are these?”

“It’s a Peruvian demon killing spell,” you told him, because that’s what Irv told you when he gave it to you.

Sam looked at the bracelet too. He’d never seen anything like it. “Does it work? I mean, actually _kill_ demons.”

“Has every single time I’ve used it.” You shrugged. “Until now, apparently.”

Sam had seen the bracelet on your wrist every single day that he’d been with you. He noticed that you never took it off, and he mentally chastised himself for never asking you about it. When he didn’t recognize the spellwork, he decided that he’d use his tablet and all the Letters’ files he had downloaded to figure out exactly where and when that Peruvian spell came from. Until then, there were some facts about your bracelet that Sam could discern on his own. “So, you used your bracelet to kill the three demons, but not the demon that brought you from the gas station to the barn?”

“I guess.”

“When you use this to kill a demon, can you see the light flicker inside them as they die, like with an angel blade?”

“Yeah. It’s the same thing.”

“And did that happen with all four of the demons?”

“I had _four_ demons coming at me, and all I had was a bracelet and a three-ounce flask of holy water to fend them all off. When they went down, I didn’t exactly stop to check for a pulse.” You blew out a ragged breath and looked away from everyone, feeling ashamed for not finishing the job the way you were trained to. “I ran. I’m rusty. I was outnumbered, and I wasn’t prepared.”

Sam, Dean, and Tracy could see how disappointed you were in yourself, but none of them blamed you. Sam wanted to be the one to comfort you and tell you that, but he couldn’t. Tracy did though. She wrapped one of her arms around your back and rested her chin on your good shoulder. “The only point that Sam is trying to make is that normal, nobody demons can’t teleport; only old and powerful demons can. _Maybe_ the demon that is possessing the MIA woman isn’t a run-of-the-mill demon?”

“Makes sense, I guess,” you sighed, still feeling annoyed with yourself. “But why-”

Before you could ask your question, Tracy stood up from the bed. “Okay. So.” She pointed at you. “ _You’re_ gonna hole up in my motel room, while _I_ find this demon.”

Dean nodded. “I’m in.”

When you saw Sam open his mouth to echo his brother, you looked at all of them like they were nuts. “No. I’m going _home_.”  

“No, you’re not,” Tracy shot back. “I know you’ve got that motel warded from top to bottom, but once your secret-civi-fella sees your face, he’s not going to leave you alone, and you don’t need to be worrying about keeping yourself _and him_ safe.”

“I _never_ said-” Unable to help yourself, you glanced over at Sam. “He’s not a friggin’ civ- Oh my god! This has gone on long enough!” You pointed at the door. “Everyone, get out!”

Right away, Sam and Dean walked out, but when Tracy started to follow them, you grabbed her arm. “Not you.”

After Sam shut the door behind himself, he held his breath.

Dean looked back and forth between the door and Sam. “She’s telling Tracy isn’t she?”

“Yup.”

“Tracy’s gonna kill you, isn’t she?”

“Yup.”

A minute later, Tracy stomped out of the bedroom and walked right past Sam and Dean.

“Tracy,” you called out to her, disappointed. “Come on. Please?” When she stopped at the end of the hallway and took a deep breath, you smiled, knowing you were nearly victorious. “I am _your_ _sister_ , which means you love me, and you trust me, all the time. No matter what.”

Unable to argue with you, Tracy sighed in defeat and walked back down the hall. She stopped directly in front of Sam and looked him square in the eyes. “Do you love her?”

“Tracy! What the hell?” You yelled at your sister as you wedged yourself between her and Sam. “Who are you? Dad?” When Tracy ignored you, you turned back to Sam. “You don’t have to answer that. Tracy’s lost her damn mind.”

Able to hear you, but choosing to answer Tracy’s question, Sam held eye contact with your sister. “Yes. I love her.” That wasn’t the way he wanted you to find out, but Sam had been wanting to tell you for weeks.

After hearing this, your eyes went wide. You were annoyed as hell with your sister, but hearing Sam say that he loved you – although to your sister and not to you – made you smile.

“Will you keep her safe?” Tracy asked her second question with no less severity that the first.

“I swear I will,” Sam promised, and he meant it.

“Good, because if, for _any reason_ , she gets hurt, I’m gonna kick your ass for _every_ _single_ thing I’ve ever wanted to kick your ass for.”

“Oh, Jesus Christ,” you grumbled under your breath. “This is insane. Are we going to negotiate who gets the sheep and farmland too?”

Dean snickered to your right.

Sam, however, was as serious as Tracy. He nodded his head. “Got it.”

“Good.” Tracy smiled and good-naturedly slapped Sam on the shoulder. “Glad we got that straightened out, and now, I need a beer.”

Dean chuckled. “I second that.”

Tracy and Dean started to walk down the hallway, but at the end, Tracy looked back at you and Sam. “When Elsie comes back, I’ll do my best to run interference.”

 _Thank you_ , you mouthed to your sister, thanking her for more than just her promise of future interference-running.

Just as Tracy smiled and nodded her head, Jody walked into the room. “What’d I miss?”

-

Once you and Sam were back in the bedroom and behind closed doors, you used your good arm to pull his upper body down to you. Smiling against his mouth, you playfully whispered, “You luhhhh-ve me.”

Sam laughed and gently kissed you. “Secret’s out.”  

“How long?”

Feeling his cheeks grow warm, Sam lifted you up and wrapped your legs around his waist, so he could bury his face in your neck. “A while.”

Under your fingers, you could feel the back of his neck warming up as well. Sam was embarrassed, and it was beyond adorable. You decided to put him out of his misery and whispered in his ear, “I love you too.”

-

Later in the day, after everyone got some rest, Jody, Tracy, Sam, Dean, and you were sitting around Jody’s kitchen table, coming up with the best plan to find the MIA demon. Both Jody and Tracy had their own inter-web of hunters that had already agreed to scour South Dakota and the Midwest – further if they needed to. Dean also offered to stay local while you and Sam went back to Kansas.

His offer surprised everyone. It was obvious that Sam disagreed, but Dean stood his ground.

And that was that.

Once the plan was set, Tracy and Jody went to make supper, while Dean went to supervise, leaving you and Sam at the table.

You watched him scroll through his tablet for a few minutes, then told him, “We don’t even know if this demon’s going to come back for me. I’m pretty banged up. If it wanted me that bad, it wouldn’t have had to try very hard.”

“I don’t know if anyone here is willing to take that chance, but even if you’re right, it sounds like the bracelet that Irv gave you has always worked to kill demons, except for this one. Tracy was right. It’s got to be old and pretty strong, and we just can’t let a demon like that run around.”

Sam was right. When you broke it down to the bare facts, there was a demon that needed to be taken care of. You leaned over and started to read on Sam’s tablet.

He smiled at you. “What are you doing?”

“Helping. I’m perfectly capable of doing research.”

After kissing the top of your head, Sam wrapped his arm around you, and the two of you sat together for the next couple of hours, reading everything in the Letters’ archives about demons that could teleport.

-

Just as the supper dishes were cleared, everyone saw red flashing lights through the window behind Jody’s table.

Tracy stood up from the table first. “I got it.”

Remembering earlier in the day when you first realized that the police officer was your ex, Dean stood up from the table and followed Tracy. “Me too.”

You, Jody, and Sam watched them walk out the front door, and a minute later, Tracy walked back into the dining room with a somber-look on her face. Dean followed her looking pissed, and Officer Deveraux walked in last.

You glared at Tracy. _What the hell?_

She held her hands up. _There’s nothing I can do._

Dean stayed silent, but inconspicuously held a flask of holy water at his side, silently telling everyone that he made sure that one of South Dakota’s finest wasn’t a demon.

“I just have a few more questions to ask you,” Elsie told you, “and then you’re free to go.”

“Fine,” you grumbled and stood up from your chair. When Sam tried to go with you, you shook your head. “It’s okay. I just want to get this over with.”

Sam hated every second of it, but he watched you follow the officer into the kitchen.

Dean also watched you and the cop walk into the kitchen, once again noticing the similarities between him and Sam. Dean was sure it just couldn’t be him. “I know I’m probably gonna get punched for this, but is it just me, or does ______ have a type?”

“What the hell is the matter with you?” Sam hissed under his breath, even though he was thinking the exact same thing. Officer Deveraux was the same height as Sam – probably an inch or two taller, but Sam would never admit it – same brown hair with nearly the same cut, and both were well-built, obviously strong with broad shoulders.

Tracy rolled her eyes and got up to get a bag from the corner of the room. “Yes, she has a type, but it’s not what you think.” Tracy took out a small photo album, flipped through some pages, and set it in the middle of the table. She looked at Sam. “You and Elsie look like her father. Her _biological_ father.”

Sam looked down at what Tracy was pointing to. It was a small, Polaroid picture of you with your dad. Sam was in awe of the fact that he was seeing you when you were practically a toddler, but he couldn’t deny there were definite physical similarities between him and your dad.

Slightly distracting himself from what he couldn’t hear in the kitchen, Sam slowly turned through the pages in Tracy’s book. Every once in awhile, he could hear something come through the door that was a little bit louder than normal talk. It killed Sam to stay in his chair, but he found he could breathe again when the flashing red lights disappeared from Jody’s driveway.

A minute later, you walked out of the kitchen, looking exhausted. You looked right at Sam. “Please take me home.”

Instantly, Sam closed the photo album and walked you out to your rental car. He was more than ready.

Dean and Jody carried both your bags and Sam’s out to the rental car, while Tracy stopped Sam at the driver’s side door. She handed him the car keys. “I don’t know if you’ve met him, but don’t let her boss, Larry, talk her into going back to work for a few days.”

“Oh, I’ve met him,” Sam answered wryly.

Tracy laughed. “He’s a real piece of work, isn’t he?”

Sam chuckled. “Yeah, he is.”

“And I know this isn’t my place,” Tracy dropped her voice down to barely a whisper, so you wouldn’t be able to hear her, “but I’m _______’s sister, and I get to worry. This. What happened. This is going to make her want to go back to hunting. It’s going to start out as research and then go from there, but if you let it, _this_ is going to be what pulls her back in. I don’t want that for her, and I’m sure you don’t either.”

Sam wasn’t sure what to say; he never heard you talk about wanting to get back into hunting. He never pressed the issue – because the idea scared the hell out of him – but you never mentioned it.

“Please, don’t let her hunt,” Tracy all but begged Sam, and before he could say anything, she walked around the car and said her good-byes to you.

“What was that about?” Dean asked when he walked up with Sam’s things from the Impala’s trunk.

“Nothing,” Sam answered, because he was unsure of what to do with his conversation with Tracy, then quickly changed the subject. “How long do you think you’ll be up here?

“Don’t know, but hopefully with all the extra hunters workin’ the job, it’ll go by faster than usual. And, before you even ask, _yes_ , I think you should go with _______ back to Kansas. For anyone else, it would have been a random demon, and a random girl, and a random barn, but it’s us. Nothing’s random. You keep her safe at home, and I’ll do it here.”

After Sam and Dean nodded their good-byes at each other, Jody came over to say hers. She gave Sam a hug and smiled at him. “I like your girl. She’s got spunk.”

Sam laughed. “Yes, she does.”

-

As Sam drove away from Jody’s house, you slid across the seat and snuggled up to him. He reached to kiss you, and when he saw your eyes droop, he whispered, “Don’t fall asleep yet. I have to stop and get gas.”

“I took a pain pill,” you yawned, already half-asleep.

Sam chuckled softly at your sleepiness. “Do you want to sleep in the back?”

“Nuh uh,” you mumbled.

Two blocks later, you were asleep.

You didn’t move when Sam parked the rental in front of the gas pumps or when he carefully leaned you against the door while he got out to fill the gas tank. Through the window, he watched you sleep, smiling to himself, until something caught his periphery. On the other side of the parking lot was a police cruiser. Standing in front of it was Officer Deveraux.

The officer gave Sam a hesitant wave. With his jaw clenched, Sam nodded, and when the officer started to walk over toward him, Sam took a breath and vowed to remain civil, because he knew it was what you would have preferred.

“Saw it was you as I was driving by. I just wanted to see how _______ is,” Elsie said kinder than Sam was expecting. “Looks like she got knocked around pretty bad.

“She did,” Sam agreed curtly, “but she’s okay. She’s tough.”

“Yes, she is,” Elsie smiled, and Sam thought the officer looked almost nostalgic. “And sorry about all the questions before. It’s just some asshole hurt _______. All I want to do is find him and lock him up.”

“Oh, I get that,” Sam muttered under his breath.

“So, you and her are…?” When Elsie saw Sam clench his jaw, he held up his hands. “I didn’t mean anything by it. I just…. We broke up, and then less than a year later, her parents were killed the horrible way they were, and she was just gone… _for five years._ No trace. When she showed up here, I was so shocked to see her.” Elsie looked at you through the glass for a minute, then cleared his throat. “I bet she’s told you all kinds of _great_ stuff about me.”

“Actually, no,” Sam admitted, “but then again, we don’t really talk about you.” It came out crueler than Sam intended, and he kind of felt bad for it.

“I suppose not.” Elsie nodded his head, taking no offense. “I never meant for what happened to happen. Shit just got away from me, and I couldn’t see….” He sighed. “Step eight is to try to make amends, and I’ve never been able to do that with _______.”

“ _Step_ _eight_?” That wasn’t what Sam was expecting. “AA?”

“NA,” Elsie corrected him. “I got shot during a drive-by. I was in the hospital for months. Lots of rehab, and lots _and lots_ of drugs. I got hooked. It got bad, and then it got worse, most of which I don’t remember, and then _______ left me. As soon as I realized she was gone, I checked myself into a place and managed to get myself clean thirty-seven days after her and Tracy left town.” Elsie sighed. “I never got to tell her that last part. Not that I want you to tell her. It’s not a secret, but I’m not askin’ you to tell her for me. I know that’s something I gotta do.”

Sam nodded, but for just a second, he felt disappointed that you never told him. He looked through the window at you sleeping.

Seeing this, Elsie offered, “She didn’t tell you, because she never told anyone, not even Tracy. If the wrong person found out, I could lose my job, and I don’t wanna be mall security for the rest of my life.” Before Elsie could say anything else, a voice came through from dispatch on his walkie. “Gotta go. If I find anything on that gray, white, or tan van, I’ll call Tracy and let her know.”

Sam chuckled to himself. “Thanks.”

Something told Sam that the police officer wasn’t a bad guy, but he still waited until the cruiser was out of sight before going inside the gas station to pay for gas. He also took a route back to Kansas that didn’t go through Pennington County, South Dakota.

You slept soundly at Sam’s side the whole way.

-

It was dark in your motel room when you woke up, and you felt like you’d slept for a week. Groggily, you reached over to turn on the lamp on your bedside table. You could feel under your fingertips that it was a different lamp than the one you were used to.

“Goddammit, Marissa,” you grumbled under your breath as you fought with the foreign lamp. “Stop messing around in my room when I’m not-” You stopped when you finally got the lamp to turn on and noticed you weren’t in your motel room. “What the hell?”

Cradling your sore arm to your chest, you looked around the room. Behind the bed was a shelf built into the wall, sparsely filled with random books and folders and an ancient-looking fan that resembled something from a film noir. On the other side of the room, there was a desk with pencils, papers, and file folders on its surface, meticulously organized. When you reached to run your fingers over an Aquarian Star-embossed folder, you saw the writing on a piece of paper.

You knew that handwriting.

“Holy shit,” you whispered to yourself and took a deep breath, smelling Sam _everywhere_. You gave the room one more once-over. There was no mistaking it.

You were in Sam’s bunker.

 


End file.
